Death Shall Have No Dominion
by Morta's Priest
Summary: "You are cordially offered a position in the Department of Mysteries." Harry receives a most unexpected offer from the Ministry of Magic - but why? Nothing is as it seems on the Ninth Level... Unspeakable!Harry
1. Premonition : Ire

_**Death Shall Have No Dominion **by Morta's Priest_

* * *

**Chapter 1 : Ire**

The silence was maddening.

For three weeks now, Harry Potter, famed childhood bane of the dark wizard Voldemort, had spent his time lounging around his relatives' house at Number Four, Privet Drive, after a rather tumultuous fifth year at Hogwarts. It was hardly by choice that he was there, of course – for any of the parties involved. It had been several days since a word had passed between them at all.

Nothing particularly exciting happened in the neighbourhood, even at the best of times. A few people complained about the weather: gloom and rain, which had persisted since May. Some gossiped about the terrible state of their neighbour's garden (whilst ignoring the imperfections of their own). There was the usual talk of teenagers congregating in the park, or how Number Seven had ostentatiously painted their front door a bright pink. Normal gossip – the type that Aunt Petunia thrived on. However, one unwelcome rumour – spoken in hushed tones between fences – concerned Number Four: cries in the night, sometimes so loud they could be heard at Number Ten. Uncle Vernon had, valiantly, made an attempt at damage control: "My disturbed nephew – has these fits, you see." Harry had gone more than one morning without breakfast – though, truthfully, he didn't mind. At least these were the normal sort of nightmare – insofar as dark wizards, giant snakes, and the killing curse were concerned.

Harry sat languidly on his bed, located in the smallest bedroom. He was wearing Dudley's latest set of cast-offs, the only clothes he owned that were fit for Muggle life. Not much space was needed in his room considering most school supplies were locked up beneath the stairs for the duration of the summer. Harry sighed and pulled his wand from his pocket; although he wasn't allowed to use it over the summer except in a dire emergency, it was a welcome reminder that another world – _his_ world – existed, even though it felt very far away. He had hardly seen a wizard or heard a spell – even on television – since the summer began.

With a twirl, Harry returned the wand to his pocket and stood up. He wasn't planning on doing anything in particular – for that he'd need to conjure up some motivation, and he was hard-pressed to imagine how he'd do that without using magic. He considered for a brief moment risking the Ministry's ire and performing a Cheering Charm, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. He had quite enough of the courtroom for a very long time, thank you very much. Besides that, the Ministry and he weren't on the best of terms at the moment.

Looking out of his window Harry could see neatly kept lawns across the street, in front of neatly kept houses that all seemed to look alike – no originality, save for Seven's pink door. There were few less interesting sights he could imagine, especially now that the sky was overcast and dull grey. In the distance he heard a dog barking, and he winced slightly. The last few weeks, although definitely boring, had at least given him time to think on this particular topic.

"Sirius, I wish you were still here," Harry whispered softly, his forehead resting against the windowpane, his breath fogging up the glass. He thought back on the recent events in the Department of Mysteries, deep within the Ministry of Magic. Although at least a dozen people had tried to convince him that he wasn't responsible for that debacle, he'd not really assimilated what they'd said. Not then, anyway.

Now, after three weeks, Harry saw it from a different perspective. He missed Sirius terribly – and he figured that it'd probably stay that way, as it should – but he'd manage to fight himself free from self-recrimination. Remus, in the end, had been the one whose words had most stuck with him:

"There's nothing you can do, Harry ... nothing. He's gone."

When the words were said, the emotional wounds were freshly carved and he himself had been near mad with panic. Sirius had just vanished into thin air right before his eyes . Remus Lupin had understood what it meant, then. Later, Harry had returned to Remus to ask for an explanation for his seemingly instantaneous acceptance of Sirius' death – the death of someone he had known far longer than Harry had.

"It is not that I didn't love Sirius, Harry," Remus had said. "He was my greatest living friend. I miss him terribly – like I miss James, and Lily, and even Peter – the Peter that I knew at Hogwarts – and all the others who died in the First War. I'm afraid that living through one war hardened me – hardened all of us. I'm grateful that – even with everything you've experienced – you're still hopeful; you still _feel_, Harry. To understand that people die, and accept that, even if they're your closest friends or family – that's very hard. To fight on after such tragedies is not something many are cut out for. Most people would rather run and hide – as many did, back then, when the Death Eaters went on a rampage."

"How do you live with it?" Harry had asked, in tears.

"In many ways, it's the same way I deal with my condition. I find myself concentrating on the important things: the here and now, and on fulfilling the goals of those who have gone, rather than spending my time on maybes and could-have-been. You can take that grief, Harry, and channel it into good actions. "

Harry had nodded, silently, and thought for a little while. Remus had found himself a small bottle of butterbeer in a deep pocket and transfigured a pair of soft chairs. Finally, Harry spoke again, deciding that this was as good a time as any to confide in the last Marauder.

"Do you know Occlumency, Remus?" he had asked, carefully. If Remus was surprised by the change of topics, he didn't show it. He answered with a shake of his head and a sigh.

"I'm afraid not, Harry. Lycanthropy, by its nature, is wild and untamed, and disrupts the mind. It takes considerable effort – especially around the full moon - to limit the change in personality. Potions help. Nevertheless, the mind is weakened and vulnerable – and occupied. I could only ever hope to achieve the bare basics of Occlumency – and, even then, I would probably be easy to read. Your father and Sirius delighted in playing poker with me – it's hard enough to control my facial expressions, let alone my thoughts. Whatever secrets you hold, you'd best keep to yourself."

Harry had nodded apologetically, but Remus didn't seem to consider the secrecy a slight against him. Remus had suddenly snapped his eyes up to Harry's and his eyes were piercing in their intensity. "Harry, be very careful of whom you share your secrets with. Not all will be as mindful as myself and confess their weaknesses. You can certainly confide in the Headmaster, and even Severus to some extent, I admit – but you have very few certainties left among your allies. There's a spy in the Order. Perhaps more than one. Alastor – that is, Professor Moody – has been hospitalized twice in the last few weeks when our actions were known by the enemy. You should be extremely careful."

"Why didn't I know about this?" Harry had asked vehemently, scowling. "I thought there wouldn't be any more secrets? Why keep me out of the loop of either the actions of the Order or those of Voldemort? How did Moody get hurt? Why would you keep such things secret?"

Remus didn't look remorseful, replying curtly. "Think, Harry. We knew you had a potential link to Voldemort. It could be possible that you were unconsciously being used to channel information through that bond. Without your involvement in planning, we were able to deduce with certainty that you are not our leak. Furthermore, you have not reported any new visions, despite a number of attacks on His part. The Headmaster has concluded that Voldemort has been performing Occlumency against your link since his unsuccessful attempt at possession. Fortunately for us, this means that the connection is effectively closed – and you would notice if it were, shall we say, unclogged."

Harry had acquiesced unenthusiastically at the time, somewhat peeved by the continuing secrecy.

Now, more than three weeks after that discussion, it made a lot more sense. Ever since the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort had been quiet – too quiet even for Harry's nerves. It turned out attacks were taking place, and people were being killed – but he just didn't know about them. There were no visions; no eerie dreams – besides the usual – not even a twinge in his scar or strange, distant memories and emotions. His scar was, for the first time in years, as useful as any other.

"I can't even use it as a road map for the underground." Harry said jokingly, rubbing the scar absently. A scar made by the Killing Curse shouldn't _just_ be a marring of the skin. It just didn't fit, really.

Of course, thinking of the Killing Curse brought him right back to thinking about death. 'Such an enjoyable topic.' Harry thought dryly, as he sat himself back down on his bed.

Harry absentmindedly twirled his wand around in his hand, thinking of what he was going to do after this summer was over. He'd seriously considered Remus' words: he could do something good. He could join the fight against Voldemort; he could challenge the prophecy. He knew that Sirius had had great confidence in his abilities; and Remus had treated him like an adult for a long time now – as far back as Third Year. Even Dumbledore had acknowledged that Harry could do a task if he set his mind to it. Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in living history. That had to count for something ...

'I can do this,' Harry decided grimly. He was certain that if he really focused on it, he could grow to become the second wizard that Voldemort feared – with Dumbledore's help, no doubt. For Sirius; for all those people dying under Voldemort's wand. Unbidden, Cedric came to mind – it had been some time since he'd thought of the night in the graveyard, and he shivered. Voldemort had a lot to answer for.

Harry strolled over to the tiny desk that was crammed in between his bed and the far wall, cluttered from top to bottom with writing materials, mostly unused, and a handful of worn books. The Dursleys were hardly the type to read, so he'd browsed through the few volumes that were stashed in his old cupboard when he put away his school material. On the back of each cover a curvy 'L.E.' was written with cherry-red ink. Lily Evans. These had been, at one time, his mother's. None of them were about sorcery – of course – but they were still engrossing reads.

One of the books was open – an old anthology of poetry. The page it was showing had been dog-eared when he found it.

"And death shall have no dominion," it started. Encapsulated in a sentence had been what the Headmaster and Remus had been trying to tell him. It had been the last straw. He'd cried for hours, unable to stop. Then he'd started reading:

_Though they go mad they shall be sane,_

_Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;_

_Though lovers be lost love shall not;_

_And death shall have no dominion._

Harry smiled slightly, fighting a chuckle. Such a grandiose thoughts, he considered, were probably best left for the Headmaster, or other wizards of actual wisdom; even Muggle philosophers or theologians. Not upstart sixth-years.

After a moment he closed the book and put it back under the loose board. He noticed his invisibility cloak, shimmering silvery in the gloom of the overcast afternoon. It felt smooth and cool to his touch, and after a brief moment he removed it from under his bed. Harry thought back on his first uses of the cloak with some nostalgia.

"Death shall have no dominion." Harry muttered as he smoothed out the magnificent cloak, turning back to his mother's poetry book. In a few weeks, the summer would give way to a new year at Hogwarts. He'd get to work, then.

He collapsed back onto the bed, eyes drifting to the ceiling and mind into daydreams. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to an hour – maybe more. The afternoon slowly, quietly, ticking away, with only the faintest murmurs of life downstairs. Harry was contemplating going to sleep when, quite suddenly, something changed. His breath caught, and his eyes darted around the room – something was different. Something significant. It felt almost like – like –

Between one instant and the next, everything transformed. A second – maybe less. Everything vanished in a maelstrom of measureless energy, burning and searing like the sun – fire burned in his blood with astounding intensity, as if magma was poured into his very veins, and he couldn't stop himself from crying out in an extended shriek. Light burst behind his eyes, sharp beyond all reason, as if the stars themselves had chosen to share his mind. With a fury that was completely out of his control liquid fire flowed through him in waves, searing him alive from within, scorching his flesh with the stench of fried meat. He couldn't think properly – the pain was excruciating and yet oddly consoling in a bizarre dichotomy that had him quivering. From whatever distant viewpoint he was watching – it almost felt like he wasn't the one in pain now – he felt strangely purified, as if the fire had burned away all the inconsequential things in his life.

Simultaneously he despaired over what was happening, tormented, and revelled in the power. For a split second, a line from his mother's poem came to mind - 'Though they go mad they shall be sane.' He couldn't hold on this any longer, he'd –

With suddenness as jarring as its arrival, the conflagration disappeared. From one moment to the next, Harry teetered precariously, and then crumpled to the ground with a suppressed cry. His scar felt like it was branded on his brow, as if someone was sticking a hot poker into it. With short breaths he slowly calmed down, until his heart stopped feeling like it would hammer right out of him. With a grunt, he lifted himself unsteadily to his feet.

At the door, transfixed by the sight, stood Petunia Dursley with a single bony hand raised to her mouth in shock. Harry practically turned the air blue with half-articulated curses as he tried to concentrate on Snape's lessons in Occlumency, but the pain and ire he felt got in the way of all efforts to clear his mind. Voldemort's anger, no doubt, worse than it had ever been before – after such a long period of relative calm, the connection had been ripped wide open. Still, he persisted, and the sensation dissipated.

"Aunt Petunia" Harry panted finally, composing himself somewhat. "I need to make a phone call. _Now_."

Petunia Dursley faintly gestured and stepped aside, evidently terrified of him – no doubt because he had just been screaming his head off, and was currently disregarding a rather significant amount of blood dribbling down his face from his bright red scar.

With some care, Harry descended the stairs. The astounding normality of the house seemed almost unreal – it felt like this was not reality at all. He lurched over to the phone, ignoring Dudley, who was looking at him with an expression between fright and disturbed captivation. Harry picked up the phone and held down the number '7' for some time.

This had been another safeguard he'd reluctantly agreed upon with Dumbledore, just before he'd gone back to the Dursleys: a way to get into swift contact with the Order of the Phoenix that wouldn't unduly upset his relatives. At first, he'd simply requested the phone numbers of some Order members – of course, none of them actually owned phones, and most of them lived in places where Muggle electronics wouldn't even work. Instead, Dumbledore had opted for enchanting the phone to alert various Order members that he wished to speak with them, by holding the numbers – 1 through 4 for Remus, Dumbledore, Moody and Tonks, respectively – the people responsible for watching his safety over the summer, if from the shadows. The number 7 was to alert Dumbledore that something pressing had come up. The number 0 was for emergencies of the most serious kind, and Harry sincerely hoped he'd never need it.

Harry didn't have to wait long. A soft crack broke the silence that had fallen over the house, and mere moments later someone knocked on the front door. Harry finally put the phone back on its holder and opened the front door, where Dumbledore was waiting for him.

"Please come in, Professor," Harry said cautiously, quickly stepping back. The aged man nodded subtly, seeming somewhat uneasy amongst the floral decorations and unmoving family portraits. Leading him to the sitting room, Harry realized they'd not parted on the best of terms.

"I believe I can guess why you called me with such urgency." Dumbledore said, pointing at the stains of blood on Harry's face and clothes. "You look quite a fright, I must say."

"The scar," Harry said with a grimace, "It began bleeding just now. It … It was quite different."

"Really? Let's wait until I make sure we have no unwanted eavesdroppers," Dumbledore suggested, his eyebrows raised. He swiftly walked into the living room where Dudley was still seated at the table, quaking slightly at the sight of the Headmaster's purple robes. With a squeak, Dudley made his way out and joined his mother upstairs. Harry suspected that she was still standing at the door to his room, frozen. It was a slight boon that Uncle Vernon was out to work.

With a quick flourish of Dumbledore's wand, all the windows and doors closed themselves and silence descended over the room. In place of the Dursleys' rickety, straight-backed chairs appeared two cosy soft armchairs, entirely pink with flowery embroidery. Dumbledore quickly sank into one, sighing contentedly. "That feels well on the old bones, I must say. Now, to business."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, lowering himself into the other transfigured chair. It was surprisingly sturdy. He patted at his bloodied scar with a tissue.

"It appears that Lord Voldemort has chosen to reopen the connection you share with him," Dumbledore said with a worried frown. "This is a puzzling decision, considering that his recent activities, particularly those disclosed to me by our inside source, seemed to indicate he had shifted his attention elsewhere. Indeed, he is expected to be attacking Hogsmeade within a few days' time, and it seems peculiar he would potentially allow you to catch wind of such plans. He is clever enough to realize that he cannot perfectly control what you see and what you do not, and if he were already aware of our foreknowledge, he would've long since murdered our spy."

Harry frowned and glanced up. "Is it possible that this time it was – not intended? It felt... very dissimilar, and he seems to be feeling quite angry at the moment. Is it possible he lost concentration on maintaining his Occlumency?"

Dumbledore shrugged noncommittally, but his eyes betrayed worry. "This seems an unlikely possibility to me. Tom Riddle is not the type to try something especially dangerous while fully involved in other activities, nor does he seem the type to lose control over his Occlumency at any time. For practically all advanced Occlumens the defence of the mind becomes instinctual, and I believe it was merely the unique nature of your particular magical bond that allowed you to access his mind in the past. No, I believe that this was done by choice, – his choice – and I am worried that I cannot find a good explanation. It likely doesn't mean anything good."

Harry licked his lips and glanced to the skies outside, still dull grey. He felt as if they should be fiery and boiling – he wasn't sure why, but he felt like this was a false calm. "When he reopened the link – it was like nothing I'd ever felt. Even the Cruciatus curse seemed friendly," he finally answered, shuddering. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"What exactly occurred this afternoon, Harry? I know that your scar has pained you in the past, but I was not under the impression that the pain was agonizing. At the very least, you have not told me such." Dumbledore seemed somewhat flustered, now.

"It wasn't like any of the other times," Harry said again, "It was... It was like fire, and rage, and the heart of the sun. I don't ... it's hard to describe. It felt like I was burning – like I was burning on the inside, and there was nothing I could do to stop it – and it was horrible and ... wonderful, in the weirdest way ..." Harry sagged in his seat, staring blankly at the cheap rug the Dursleys had to cover the smudges of his uncle's boots that were engraved in the floor where he'd sat for many years. Dumbledore made no remark at all. After a few minutes, he looked up, and saw the old Headmaster looking back at him with a strange expression on his face. "Do you know what it means, Professor? Was it some new torture that Voldemort invented just for me?"

"I do not know, Harry," Dumbledore said carefully, floating a cup of tea from the kitchen, and grasping it with steady hands. "It is troubling that Voldemort would send a vision to you of what appears to me to be considerable power – enough that you'd be overwhelmed by it. Were you able to distinguish what happened in this vision?"

"That's just it, Professor. There was no imagery. If I saw anything, it was blinding light." Harry flustered. "I'm sorry, Professor, but could I have a cup of tea as well?"

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said, quickly conjuring another cup. "I'm not generally used to being a host in another person's house, though I suppose your inability to use magic may serve as an excuse." Dumbledore said congenially. "I am somewhat surprised that the Ministry appears not to have noticed the magical discharge of this violent magical event. I suppose it is a small blessing."

"Would they lock me up for wandless magic?" Harry asked apprehensively. "I've done accidental magic in the past, and being cooped up without magic for weeks isn't doing much for alleviating tension. I wouldn't be surprised if someone got blown up one of these days," he smiled to himself. "I wonder what Aunt Petunia would look like as a balloon?"."

"Oh no, certainly, the Ministry wouldn't dare arrest you, but they'd certainly come to inquire on your effusions." Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Generally speaking it's how the Ministry keeps track of particularly powerful wizards – as you may be aware, wandless magic of any kind is rather unusual among adult wizards – I've seen very few that can even conjure up a 'Lumos' with any reliability. If my suspicions are correct, you might be one of those powerful wizards."

"Me?" Harry asked, marvelling. Yes, he'd decided he'd become powerful enough – one day – to defeat Voldemort, but that would be the product of hard work, not inborn ability. He hardly considered himself to be _naturally_ talented. If that was anyone, it was Hermione: top of the class, able to master any spell with almost no effort. "I ... Well, I've done some wandless magic, but it wasn't ever deliberate – I mean, other than speaking Parseltongue."

Dumbledore didn't seem surprised at all. "Intentional wandless magic is not a common skill amongst adult wizards – there are only a few people in the Order capable of it. I've seen minor feats of it from Alastor, Remus, and Severus. Voldemort, of course, can use it too. There are precious few others that I'm aware of within our nation. I know of none as young as yourself."

"I hardly think my wandless skills are particularly impressive – just light and summoning charms." Harry admitted, shrugging. Dumbledore looked up acutely, and for a moment Harry felt a chill running down his spine.

"Summoning charms, you say? Quite a bit of control is needed for that particular spell – I've not yet managed that spell wandlessly myself. I am afraid that I have rather too much magic to control with any ease. You're quite a surprise, Harry." Dumbledore looked over his glasses in pride. "I suspect you'll find that if you try, quite a few spells will be effective wandlessly, – maybe even _word_lessly – if you are capable of casting even a short-range _Accio_. As far as I am aware, only Severus and Tom share that particular skill with you." For a moment, neither did anything but sip at their tea, before Dumbledore straightened. "Well then, I believe that particular topic can wait until you are again allowed to use magic. I'm afraid that trying out your wandless abilities would rather upset the Ministry, and I think it is best we prevent too many people from finding out about either your skills or your location. Perhaps when you return to Hogwarts, we can see what it means for you. I would request of you to put a memory of your vision into a flask, so that I can inspect it at my office. I don't believe it is wise to relive it here, considering your description. And, if I may, I might recommend that you take a bath."

Harry looked down at his over-sized T-shirt, coated in still-fresh blood. Bits of dust and dirt from where he'd fallen on the floor were sticking to the front in a haphazard, Tim Burton-esque mosaic. He flushed. "Alright, Professor," Harry agreed. "You've given me some things to think about." Harry raised his wand to his head and hesitated. "Professor, can I use my wand for this, or would it be registered as magic?

"It's fine, Harry. Memory magic isn't easily tracked, and the Ministry hardly has the resources to keep it up now," Dumbledore answered. "If you don't mind, concentrate on what your state of mind was at the time – it might help me decipher what went on. If it's not too personal, of course. I cannot give good explanations at the moment – I have suspicions, but I will require time to verify if any of them are correct."

Harry coloured a little, worrying what Dumbledore might say about his philosophizing and poetry, before nodding and slowly moving the wand away from his head. At the end of the wand was a shining silver thread which he lowered into a small flask that the Headmaster was holding for him. The moment the memory was inside the flask was quickly closed with a cork and stuffed into the folds of the Headmaster's robe.

"How are you doing, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, tone gentle yet slightly prying. His face showed genuine worry.

"Sorry?" Harry asked.

"June's events." he elaborated. "I – we all – worry about you."

"I – I believe you will find some of my thoughts on the matter in that memory, Headmaster," Harry said evasively. "Death has been on my mind of late, but Remus helped. So have you. And mum." The last slipped out almost without him realizing, and Dumbledore perked up. "I have some of her old Muggle books," Harry clarified.

Suddenly, things twisted. Harry recognized the feeling immediately, and tensed. Dumbledore seemed to notice, and quickly stepped over, whipping out his wand. "What is it, Harry?"

"It's ... happening ... again," Harry forced out from between dry lips, trembling and his eyes darting around the room, as if he could see where the pain would come from. "Volde ..." he managed before the pain slammed into him.

The scream that tore from his throat was high-pitched and reverberated around the room. The flames that tore through his veins drove him to tears again, and had he not already been in a chair, he'd likely have fallen over. Instead, the liquid inferno tore through his insides, through his extremities, and through his mind. Distantly, he saw Dumbledore waving his wand in a complicated motion, but the observation fled from his conscious mind in an explosion of white. For a moment, the horrible duality between pain and comfort returned. He wished it was over. Harry thought distantly from the rational, detached part of his mind that this felt familiar. Half of him continued screaming in agony, but the feeling was numbed and fading. The other half of him felt power, and potential, and a boundless wild enthusiasm. Without realizing quite where one stopped and the other began, his cry of anguish changed into a high-pitched laugh.

The world righted. For a moment, Harry felt like he was balanced on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall at any moment. He slumped back into his chair, muscles slackening. He felt none of the confusion or pain he'd felt the last time, which was both comforting and disturbing: was he already getting used to it? He stared at the Headmaster, who returned a look of utmost concern. After a moment Harry realized why: 'I'm still laughing.'

"Harry?" Dumbledore said as the laughter stopped with a snap. "Harry, are you with me?"

Harry nodded, licking his dry lips. "It seems ..." He began, then coughed. "It seems you got a free viewing. It was ... very similar last time. I … don't know where the laughter came from. I suppose ... Voldemort?"

Dumbledore didn't seem to hear him, but was staring out the window with a contemplative look on his face. "Harry, I will have to ask you to remain here, and you are to alert me the moment you have another one of these episodes. I neither felt nor detected magic in use even from within this very room: Clearly, what you experience is a phenomenon of the mind alone, not of the body. I fear it might well be that Tom is experimenting with your connection, and that is of considerable concern to us. I will station Alastor at this house – he should never be more than a yell away. I will similarly be available to you at most times of the day. I will need to meet with Professor Snape about alternative methods of teaching you Occlumency at the earliest opportunity."

"Is this dangerous, Headmaster?" Harry asked, shaking, eyeing the old professor. "There's no possible way this could be a good thing."

Dumbledore had a peculiar glint in his eyes, and seemed deep in thought. Finally, he spoke again. "The impression I received from your, shall we say, 'fit' doesn't set my mind at ease. It makes me think of far too many dark rituals, most of which Lord Voldemort is quite capable of performing. I believe that what you are experiencing may be a form of spill-through; whatever it is he is attempting is likely a secret from his own followers, – even his closest circle – which may be why I do not know about it. The attacks on the Order may have been set up intentionally to distract us – a most disturbing possibility. There are precious few reasons I can think of for Lord Voldemort to use his entire Death Eater force as a distraction from his own actions. None of them are remotely beneficial for us."

"I suppose I'll be using the warning bell, again," Harry said, resigned. "I hope that you'll inform me of what is going on with the Order. It's not easy being cooped up." Harry's voice no longer wavered, which gave him some pride.

For a brief moment, a sparkle returned to Dumbledore's eyes, and he stood up, dispelling the charms he'd placed on the room. "Alastor will be at the residence within ten minutes. I believe it is unlikely that more than two rituals will be employed this night, even with Lord Voldemort's magic, so you should have a restful remainder of the day. It is quite possible your connection will again be blocked as soon as Voldemort reasserts his Occlumency barriers. If you don't mind I'd also like a memory of this latest experience...?"

Harry quickly deposited the second memory into the flask which the Headmaster retrieved from his billowing robes.

"Before you go - I hope you can forgive me for my dreadful outburst in your office," Harry said with a uneasy look, his face flushing Weasley-red.

"Oh, nonsense," Dumbledore said, scoffing, though a slight twinkle returned to his eyes. "I dare say I had too many possessions in any case, and I have many more to replace those that were damaged beyond repair. I must confess that there is a valid reason why those particular possessions were not magically protected – in a school of children and teenagers, it is often wise to have an easy outlet for pent-up frustrations," he chortled slightly.

"I dare say that most, like yourself, feel somewhat ashamed for letting go of their temper in my office, and tend to replace my lost belongings." He looked carefully over the top of his glasses, his face neutral.

With a quick nod and a pop, he was the only person in the room again. It was dead silent in the house, with the Dursleys probably still terrified of any potential wizards. "Or one in particular," he muttered darkly, remembering his own scream and Aunt Petunia's reaction.

He sat in the transfigured armchair – he supposed that it would revert back to normal eventually – until the doorbell rang twice, and there was a loud knock. Grabbing his wand, he made it to the front door and quickly took a peek through the keyhole.

"Well done, Potter," the wizard on the other side said gruffly. Mad Eye. "I gave these lumps of Muggles a warning they won't soon forget, the last time I was here. That good enough to make sure it's me?"

Harry quickly opened the door, and Moody stomped in. He was rather fuzzy around the edges, almost as if – "Your disillusionment charm could use a bit of work, you know," Harry commented wryly. He didn't wait for Moody as he moved back into the living room – he noticed that both comfy chairs had reverted to their original shape. "That'll hardly help you when Death Eaters are about."

"What're you talkin' about, Potter? My disillusionment has been quite enough to get me out of all sorts of difficult situations. You know by now what it's like to be in those, I reckon, after that scuffle in the ministry," Moody answered offhandedly.

Harry had some trouble considering the battle in which his godfather died a "mere scuffle", but didn't voice it. Instead, he peered over his glasses at the ex-Auror, studying the experienced warrior. "I suppose Dumbledore spoke to you about Voldemort's latest experiments."

Moody nodded, and hobbled over to one of the rickety chairs the Dursleys owned, quickly transfiguring it into a hard-backed tall chair made of what seemed like marble. The Dursleys' choice of seating was clearly not particularly liked among wizards, Harry noted.

"I'll be spending at least a few days around here, including my bath time. I've arranged my own accommodations – I'm sure you remember this particular trunk." He enlarged a trunk he'd removed from his pocket with a quick '_Engorgio._' It was like the one he'd been locked up in for several months.

"I'd didn't think you'd be uncomfortable in one of those," Harry said uneasily. The thought of being locked away for months gave him goose bumps. "I certainly would be."

"It's not just one of those, it's the very same one," Moody noted with harsh pride. "It's not particularly enjoyable, but that's not the point. I got caught, and it was my own fault. I was trapped in there for most of a year – in return, I intend to use it in the same capacity for the same amount of time, to get back at the bastard that got me. Albus calls it the logic of a madman, and was doing that annoying twinkly thing when I told him."

Harry snorted, and then nodded at the trunk. "I think it's best we put it in my room – you'll be close by if anything happens, and I don't think the Dursleys would be particularly fond of you storming through their house at every opportunity. You can just exit through my window."

Moody didn't have any objections. They didn't even encounter the Dursleys on their way up – Harry suspected they were sneaking a peek at the front door from one of the windows, doubtlessly convinced there were now no fewer than three wizards in the house.

It took several days for Moody to settle in comfortably – on day two, Harry had gotten the fright of his life when Moody slammed open the trunk and jumped out at precisely six thirty, wand drawn. Evidently his eye wasn't really able to look through the sides of the trunk– in Moody's world, this apparently meant that the trunk could be surrounded by invisible enemies and a surprise exit was always necessary. After the first few nights, Harry opted to put the bathroom mirror on the inside of the trunk's lid, allowing Moody to get a good peek around the room and enter in a more civilized manner. Harry supposed that it was at least a good thing that Moody remembered to apply a mild silencing charm on the door, dulling the sharp sounds, if not eliminating them – he didn't want to imagine what Uncle Vernon would say. Moody was occasionally gone for an hour or two, though he always left behind his twirling magical eye to keep, quite literally, an eye on things.

A week after the first visions, after he made up his mind about what he was going to do with rest of his summer, Moody offered training in Occlumency. Moody wasn't an expert, though he knew enough to detect intrusion and to fend off most people, but certainly couldn't match Dumbledore or Snape's abilities. Still, the meditation exercises were peaceful, and – sometimes – even interesting. Moody opted to hold all of this in the cramped room inside his trunk. When not training, Moody talked – his Golden Days at the Ministry; before long, Harry got to know him quite well. Truth be told, the weeks were quite enjoyable, and he saw very little of the Dursleys. Indeed, he saw very little of the world outside his room.

Occlumency training had been remarkably different than he'd anticipated – certainly, nothing like his training with Snape – and he had noted with some surprise that Dumbledore had not, in fact, directly asked Moody to teach. Harry considered the possibility that Dumbledore had simply known Moody's character well enough to know he'd offer, and that that was the reason he'd been assigned to the house. It seemed like something Dumbledore would do.

Moody had Harry meditating for the first two weeks, trying to achieve stability of mind; it wasn't the kind of meditation he'd expected, honestly, but it seemed to be working. It had been surprisingly easy to do so, as it called for some central focus: Harry had no trouble putting defending people and defeating dark wizards squarely in that position. It seemed that, unknowingly, he'd spent the first few weeks of his vacation on something valuable after all. Again, he wondered how well Dumbledore knew him, if the old wizard had foreseen all this. It seemed a strange idea, but he couldn't help but consider it. The old wizard had a century of experience to build on, and he was certainly quite clever, after all.

Ten days ago, Moody had begun to apply a more Snape-like method of teaching, and used Legilimency to try and retrieve particular memories from Harry's mind. Thankfully, most of these memories were quite innocuous, and revolved around spells he'd learned in class, some snippets of himself in his youth, and brief flashes from some of his more disturbing experiences. Moody wasn't nearly as blunt as Snape had been, and seemed to scrupulously avoid calling upon whole memories or particularly violent ones. Part of this, Harry suspected, was also due to Moody's relatively middling skill at this field of magic. Harry had been able throw Moody out of his mind on the second day, and completely prevented him from accessing the target memory by the seventh. The quick progression was likely due to the amount of time Moody spent teaching each day – hours upon hours, until either one of them was exhausted – though, Harry was gratefully for it.

"You're making some great progress, Harry," Moody noted, setting himself down upon the only chair in the bedroom. He'd gone from calling him 'Potter' to 'Harry' within the first week, and had asked to be called Alastor in return. Harry only remembered to use that name half the time, though Moody didn't seem to mind slip-ups. "You better keep an eye on your post, boy," he commented with a slight grin. "You never know what great opportunities might be waiting in your future."

It wasn't the first strange comment Moody had made since his arrival; Harry had been pondering the phrases occasionally, particularly when dozing on his bed in the late evening. What on earth did Moody mean by talking about career opportunities? He was going back to Hogwarts; it was hardly time to get a job yet, and he still had a murderous dark wizard after him. It didn't seem like writing résumés would be particularly helpful at the moment.

* * *

It was another overcast Monday, early in the morning, and Harry was eating breakfast with the Dursleys. It was a surreal experience, as Moody had – for whatever reason – chosen to join them at the table. Uncle Vernon left early that day, which meant that two pale faces were facing two chatting wizards, one of which was particularly ferocious in appearance. Harry was half-heartedly explaining what happened in the Chamber of Secrets – a topic Moody seemed quite interested in. "I stabbed the basilisk through the mouth. Nurse Pomfrey thought it had to be fifty or sixty foot long, given the size of the tooth it lodged in my arm," Harry remarked dryly, absently rubbing where the scar was – faint, but there. "I guess that's one of those scars of mine I can point at when I'm old."

Moody grimaced, though Harry supposed it could be a genuine smile. "I'm not proud for getting any of those – I'm proud for surviving them. Most of them could've been rather lethal. Like your own, I'd think. Killing Curses and basilisk bites – you've had quite the exhilarating life already, eh?"

Harry wanted to answer – when it happened again. The air changed, and he sat up straight. It was as if something fundamental had shifted – as if the very air had gone liquid. He turned to Moody in a panic. "Moody, Voldemort's attempting another ritual, I think. _Now!_"

Moody raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Highly unlikely. I received a message not half an hour ago stating that Voldemort and several Death Eaters had been detected near a village, up north. You know that: you saw that phoenix patronus come in, you probably heard what it said. I rather doubt rituals and attacks go together."

"Shouldn't you be out there, fighting, then?" Harry asked confusedly; he couldn't shake the dread in his stomach. Where was the flash of pain? Why hadn't it started yet? Was it building up to be worse than the last?

"I'm your bodyguard, Potter. I can hardly go traipsing off to every battleground and leave you here to be captured. I don't much care for the passive approach, but Albus isn't often wrong." Moody twirled his magical eye in Harry's direction. "Where are you getting this, anyway? What rituals?"

Harry felt the tension building, and winced. With some difficulty he said: "Another … fit... like before, when Dumbledore ... was here. I think it's coming any moment now. Last time ... reckoned ... it was Voldemort … dark rituals." It was getting difficult to force words out, and still the pain had yet to hit – he felt like he was being squeezed into jelly.

Moody stood up from the table and grabbed him by the waist, hoisting him up on the shoulder. Harry protested, but before he could force out another word, he was already halfway up the stairs to his room, doubtlessly leaving a pair of confused and panicked Dursleys behind. His sense of time seemed to be slipping – it seemed but a moment from being on the stairs to laying on the bottom of Moody's trunk.

Before he could form another thought, the world dissipated in a blaze of crippling agony, quickly replaced by that bizarre sensation of being two people. The combination of contradictory feelings caused him to stop bellowing, and for a brief moment he felt as if he could topple mountains, as if he could melt solid rock and boil oceans dry. He stood at the heart of the raging fire-storm, and it felt wonderful. The scorching pain of the fire was still there, but it seemed distant and unimportant. He wondered at what it meant, at what the fire was trying to tell him. It didn't seem to make any sense – fire was terrible, yet magnificent? Was it trying to show him something?

The moment ended, and the sensation of fire faded nearly instantly to the dull numbness of normality. He noticed he was laughing and closed his mouth with a snap, cutting off a chuckle. He blinked his eyes – for some reason, they were watery – and looked around. All he saw was the brick walls of the trunk and a terrified Alastor Moody, holding his wand out, shaking.

"It's over," Harry said, sighing slightly as he sat up. That had been far more intense than the last two – but, in a way, far less painful. If Voldemort was trying to make it a more effective way of torture over a distance, he wasn't succeeding. "Is the scar bleeding again?" He didn't feel any particular emotion that wasn't his own – maybe slight confusion, though it seemed dull and far away. Fear? Doubtful.

Moody finally answered in a gravelly voice. "Potter, that was the most alarming thing I've seen in years. Dumbledore didn't tell me you'd be writhing and ranting like a madman!"

Harry gingerly touched his scar, and found that it was entirely dry. Huh. He looked up at Moody, looking unusually uncertain about himself. "Better alert Dumbledore," he commented, jumping from the bed. Moody hadn't moved, and he was blocking the stairs out of the trunk. "Moody?"

Moody finally relented, but raised a hand. "Let me handle this." With a flick of his wand, a Patronus soared out of his wand, moving too fast for Harry to guess its shape. It flashed away immediately. "I sent for Albus, he'll certainly be here soon enough. We'd best make ourselves comfortable – it's quite possible he's still stuck up in the north."

Before Moody could say another word, a slight crack sounded in the bedroom above. With a wave of his hand, Moody opened the lid – which could only easily be opened from the inside – and a flustered Dumbledore looked down into it. It took mere moments for the ancient professor to jump down, landing gracefully on his feet.

"I do hope my appearance was sufficiently prompt." Dumbledore said, as he brushed dust off his robes. "It has been only a few minutes since the last Death Eater was stunned near Plockton, so I'm afraid I had little time for cleaning up. I suppose we are even now, Harry."

"The attack went through?" Moody asked, disbelievingly. "Seems Voldemort is more certain of his followers than we think, considering he'd let them go off alone, in numbers."

Dumbledore frowned at Moody, and then pursed his lips. "Voldemort was personally leading his forces today. Most escaped and considerable damage was done to the village. We lost none of ours, though they lost three low-level Death Eaters."

"Then your previous idea was wrong," Harry commented dryly, moving to the edge of the bed. "I was just attacked by the mother of all visions, and it seems rather unlikely that Voldemort would be going after Muggles while sending them."

Dumbledore stared, started to say something, then closed his mouth again. For a moment Harry had the urge to point out that he'd just gotten Albus Dumbledore gaping. After a few more moments in which Dumbledore's face went from fear to intrigue to confusion, he finally spoke. "If my previous hypothesis is wrong, that leaves very few. Was there anything significantly different from this vision?"

Harry noted the strange look he was receiving from Dumbledore – almost as if the Headmaster didn't believe him. He shook off the impression and described his experiences the best he could remember – he ended up using the word 'fire' a lot. Moody's description, if anything, was scarier: he reported flailing, writhing, and rhythmic chanting of poetic-sounding verse. Harry thought he already knew what particular poem he'd quoted. He wondered, briefly, if it was the deranged, anguished half of him that had recited the lines.

"I'm afraid that I am no closer to finding a solution to this particular problem." Dumbledore admitted, still seeming somewhere poised between disbelief and horror." I searched out Voldemort on the battlefield, today. He apparated out nearly half an hour ago, and at the time I didn't think anything of it – the Death Eaters were already partially in retreat, as we had some of them surrounded. I wonder if it might be something from within your connection, rather than something either of you is directly causing. Perhaps something is tapping into your connection, and it's the cause of these surges. Voldemort might well be experiencing similar attacks on his mind. That might also explain why he's losing control of his Occlumency for brief periods."

Harry had few possible leads on what was going on – he trusted Dumbledore to eventually figure it out and dispel whatever strange magic it was. Perhaps he'd get good enough at Occlumency that he could defend his mind at length, shutting off the connection on his own end. At the moment, it seemed, the answers were far, far away.

Dumbledore left with another memory, and Moody warily took back his room, ushering Harry out into the Dursley house, his magical eye never leaving Harry until he shut the lid. Harry walked over to the window, mindful of the many protective charms located around it – wards, Moody had called them.

Harry had time to think for the remainder of his vacation. The strange visions were getting weirder each time, and now he wasn't even sure if Voldemort had even been the origin in the first place. Moody wasn't particularly helpful – he'd been jumpy ever since the first vision, and the later ones didn't help matters.

Eight times now he'd had a screaming fit – though the screaming was briefer each time – followed by a surreal experience of power. He felt like he could take on the world while he was in those – the last few times they'd not even been painful enough to knock him off his feet any more – but he was well aware of Dumbledore's opinions that, despite feeling like he was capable of destroying whole countries, he'd not actually gotten any stronger. Each time, Moody had reported moaning, retching and the occasional line of poetry – each time from that same poem. It seemed that whatever Voldemort was up to might have to do with immortality, and his mind had latched on to that poem in a strange sort of symmetry.

Dumbledore had become more and more sceptical with each occurrence. For reasons Harry didn't entirely understand, more questions were asked, and more magical tests performed, including asking about seemingly unrelated things, or asking for responses to words. Lately he'd been asked quite a lot of questions about orphanages – he'd never been in one, but Dumbledore seemed to be under the impression he should know about it. Harry reckoned Dumbledore was probably trying to figure out if any possession was taking place – not a bad precaution, he supposed. Thankfully, his mind seemed to be his own.

Finally, the summer was drawing to a close. He'd not been allowed to go to the Burrow this year – most of the Weasleys were at Headquarters and that was definitely off limits for now, both because of the connection to Sirius and the continuing concern of Voldemort using Harry as an unknowing spy. Dumbledore and Moody had been his most frequent visitors, though Remus had been by twice – both times immediately after a full moon. It seemed that the werewolf became restless without Padfoot to keep him company, and a brief chat with Harry could get him back fighting. Harry went and repeated both Remus' own words and Dumbledore's back at him, and was faced with a shy smile and chuckle each time.

With summer's end came the end of his Occlumency lessons – he'd improved significantly, and Dumbledore noted that lessons with Snape would now likely be far less daunting or hazardous; it was just a question of practice at this point. Although Harry balked at the idea of having Snape run roughshod through his mind (again), he figured it was worth it. After all, his inability to deal with Snape had unintentionally led to the death of Sirius. Facing it was the least he could do.

Another reason it had to be Snape, Harry hypothesized, was the fact that there was a new disconnect between himself and Professor Dumbledore. He wasn't sure what had caused it, but the visions of fire over the holidays had seemingly put the Headmaster on edge – perhaps because even he could not find a good explanation. Harry had caught the Headmaster staring with narrowed eyes, as if Harry were doing something particularly heinous. Other times, he'd radiated outright suspicion. Regardless, Moody continued to give all the highlights of order meetings directly to Harry, and he was free to communicate with his friends via Moody, with several letters going back and forth every few days, mostly to Ron and Hermione, with a few for Luna, Neville, and Ginny. He spoke to Remus and Tonks on the phone. Dumbledore was clearly holding himself to his part of the agreement they'd made that day in the Headmaster's office, and in return he'd chosen to forgive the Headmaster for his eccentricities. He figured that this way, things might eventually get better.

Of course, then his birthday had arrived. On the windowsill was an imposing black owl carrying a largish envelope imprinted with the Ministry of Magic's seal.

* * *

**Author's Note : **_Beta-read by __Helen Racine__ (/u/78047/Helen_Racine)_ _Very many thanks. :)_**  
**

Credit for a few lines here go to :

Doctor Who (2005)

Dylan Thomas :'And Death Shall Have No Dominion'.


	2. Premonition : With Interest

**Chapter 2 : With Interest**

The owl held up one leg, a small pouch hanging by a cord. Embroidered on the pouch in golden thread was the message: Administration Cost, 5 Sickles. With a sigh Harry fetched a few coins from his school trunk and deposited them into the pouch, then removed the letter keeping an eye on the sharp-beaked bird. He was halfway amused the Ministry had elected to charge him for a letter, – and on his birthday, no less – but shrugged it off. The large owl took off immediately, sparing no glance for Hedwig in her cage nor the owl feed and water he'd made ready for the expected barrage of birthday owls.

Harry rubbed a finger over the ministry seal, wondering what on earth this could be about. He remembered his last warning for under-age magic; that certainly hadn't been so formal. Nor did he have to pay for it, Harry noted, throwing an annoyed glance out the window, though the owl was already far gone.

He heard a rumbling sound, and accurately concluded that Moody was making his way out of his trunk; the slight opening of the trunk's and the flash of a spinning eye was all he saw before the ex-Auror smoothly jumped out of the trunk, wand at the ready – he'd gotten used to it. The paranoid ex-Auror quickly glanced over the envelope, and a ghost of a smile flickered over his face. "I'll be out for an hour or two," he announced, popping his spinning magical eye out of its socket with a sickening squelching sound. As usual, he dropped it into a conjured glass of water and ambled over to the window. "Need to do some recruitin' for Dumbledore. You keep yourself safe, right? Just be yourself and you'll be fine."

Harry had no idea what had gotten into Moody, but nodded anyway, hoping to put the Auror's mind at ease – though, the effort didn't seem horribly effective. After a few more moments Moody apparated away, not mentioning it though looking thoroughly unconvinced. Harry rubbed his neck and took a look out the window to see if anyone was around, but it seemed that even this birthday would be particularly unexciting. The Dursleys, of course, had ignored it entirely.

Removing the seal on the Ministry letter, Harry pulled out an ancient-looking piece of parchment – it was entirely blank, save for a small drawing of what was unmistakably a wand. For a moment, Harry considered the idea that the Ministry was playing a prank, but it seemed unlikely. With some hesitancy, he raised his wand to the paper and lightly tapped it, as he'd seen Dumbledore do before – he wasn't entirely sure if any spell was actually need, or if it was just intent, like with extracting memories. A moment later he reconsidered, but it was already far too late.

The moment the tip of his wand touched the paper he felt a sharp tug behind his navel – he had moments to panic at his own stupidity for trusting a letter from the Ministry – before the Portkey whisked him away in a kaleidoscopic flurry of colours that left him dizzy and entirely helpless.

Harry landed painfully on a solid marble floor, in a crumpled heap – he took in his surroundings quickly: a dark stone corridor, similar to some he'd noticed last time he was in the Ministry, but this particular hallway seemed to have neither doors nor windows. He heard someone chuckling and snapped upright, his wand pointed at the source of the sound. For a brief moment Harry thought it was a Death Eater – he paled at the implications – before realizing that there was no white mask in sight.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, lowering his wand slightly. The woman – he was certain that hadn't been a man laughing – shrugged, then gestured for him to come. She was covered head to toe in a dark blue robe with a deep cowl hiding her face, though he thought he could see the outlines of a chin. "Why the Portkey?"

"It is the usual method of arranging a meeting here – we value our privacy. I'm afraid my identity, and many other things, aren't for you to know. Secrecy, you know – important in our line of work. For now, you're merely here to answer some questions. I'm afraid that you won't remember anything else from here on out." It was definitely a woman's voice. She gestured with her wand, and Harry shivered.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I remember?" Harry asked, confused, shaking his head. He blinked at the woman, who was shaking her head, chuckling again. He jerked when he noticed that he wasn't in the same hallway as moments before – there were doors. How had he just moved without noticing?

"Those Obliviators do a marvellous job, I must say," she commented dryly, face still carefully concealed. "Your visit is over, Mister Potter. I hope it was a productive afternoon – though, I suppose you are the worst person to be asking at this point. You will find that some memories may return if they become necessary: depending on what happens in the future, you may eventually find out what you spoke about, today. Your letter will send you back to your home. " The woman turned and walked away, vanishing from the hallway quite suddenly, as if she'd apparated. "Have a good birthday – or, what's left of it," her voice drifted from far away.

Harry shook his head, and looked down on the letter he'd received. His mind was racing – had he really just been memory charmed? He tried the nearest door, but it was firmly locked. With a shrug, he figured he might as well think about this at the Dursleys, and let the Portkey whisk him away in a psychedelic spin – this time, his landing was better – right onto his bed.

It was dark outside.

"They _did_ obliviate me." Harry muttered angrily, glaring at the letter with suspicion. What on earth did the Ministry achieve by inviting him over, then erasing the meeting from his memory? Evidently he'd been away for hours, and judging by the small pile of parcels stacked up on his desk, he'd missed the arrival of his birthday presents entirely.

"About time," Moody said, stomping into the room, his wooden leg tapping loudly on the floor clearly in need of a new silencing charm. "My, they took their sweet time with you, didn't they?"

Harry sighed, and glared accusingly at Moody. "Alastor – you knew about this, about this whole – ?" He gestured widely, annoyed, "This whole kidnapping and memory erasing business? What on earth did they do to me? Couldn't you have given me a bit of a warning?"

"I heard rumours back before summer, since I've got my own business at the Ministry. Nothing solid, but as it turned out, I still have some pull. I managed to get into contact with a few of my friends in there and they made sure your appointment was properly guarded," Moody said, smirking. "Come now, you're clever. Surely you've some idea of who you went to meet?"

Harry snorted, falling back on his bed. "I thought the Minister or the Aurors first, but it didn't seem their style. They're not exactly good at the cloak and dagger thing, no offence." He smirked as Moody frowned at the slight against his profession. "I figure that the woman I met must've worked at the Department of Mysteries – probably as an Unspeakable, whatever they are. I'm assuming it had something to do with the whole fiasco back before summer."

Moody grunted, "I've some idea what they're after, but I don't think I'm supposed to tell. Unspeakables are really into that whole secrecy hubbub, and they'd probably come and obliviate me – and my mole – if I said anything. Heck, for all I know they've already done that – that's the trick with proper memory charms, you don't actually notice. Dumbledore told me that you'd already been interviewed about June."

"I haven't, at least, I don't _think_ I'd met an Unspeakable before today" Harry answered truthfully. " He noticed Moody's cheesy grin, and groaned, "I suppose I wouldn't remember having an interview either. They're _really_ fond of that, aren't they?"

"You better believe it. Didn't meet any of them on the job; or, probably did, but it's impossible to know. . I reckon they've hit me with memory erasers more times than I can count, cleaning up after yet another dark wizard strewn all over the pavement. Glad they're good at it, at least – wouldn't want to get unbalanced, like you can get with amateur memory modification."

Harry didn't comment on that, opting instead to open his presents. The first one he opened turned out to be from Moody: a small portable foeglass that could be used to figure out if any enemies were nearby – a practical albeit slightly-paranoid gift, though he wouldn't have expected any other. He noted with some amusement that Uncle Vernon was quite distinctively glaring at him from it. Hermione, as per usual, had sent him school supplies: books on defence and charms, and one all about the use of common spells in combat – it'd surely come in handy, considering the overall lack of proper defence teachers. Ron's gift consisted of a small miniature quidditch set, with two teams replaying classic, often-referenced matches. The letter that came with it noted that it was an experimental product Ron had helped create with Fred and George. As a consequence it was placed firmly on the far end of the room: knowing the twins, it was full of pranks that would go off at the most inconvenient time.

Remus had sent him a small photo album: a copy of his own, with a wide collection of Wizarding photographs taken in the Marauder's first few years of Hogwarts. Three of the boys showed up most frequently, but a few of the photos also contained his mother, usually some distance away. In one or two pictures he'd occasionally see a glimpse of Peter Pettigrew, but it seemed that the album was enchanted to hide his presence. It quickly found a place with the photo album he'd received from Hagrid.

There were a few small gifts from other Order members – one of them sent the Daily Prophet, which Moody usually summarized for him anyways. Nibbling on the cookies that 'Devlin' sent him – apparently, a new Order member - he looked through the small instructional manual on Wizarding cooking (from Mrs. Weasley, of course) and tried on his brand new sweater – Ginny's gift. Unfortunately, the sweater wouldn't do very well as Muggle camouflage, as it had golden snitches slowly fluttering all over. Neville had sent some samples of gillyweed he'd grown himself: for future watery emergencies, no doubt. They were suspended in small globes of quick-melt ice that would dissolve when placed in the mouth.

The oddest gift, though, was the one from Dumbledore. It was a massive book of Ministry regulations and procedures: hopefully, not something he'd be needing in the future. The note was equally unusual: "take extra care in reading pages 796 onwards" – which he would have been happy to do, if the book continued past page 742.

"Knowing Dumbledore, it's a riddle," Moody commented as he made his way back into his trunk for a good night's rest. "I'd keep that book somewhere close. If you ever figure out where to find the missing pages, you'll have quite a useful volume."

Harry nodded, stashing his presents safely into his trunk, thinking about the Ministry and what on earth they could be up to; why Moody was evasive; Dumbledore didn't comment one way or another; At least, he acknowledged as we was falling asleep, the Ministry hadn't hurt him – not that he knew of, anyway. _Obliviation is _so_ annoying_.

* * *

It was a few days before September First, which would be the day he went back to Hogwarts, and the last day he'd see Moody for some time. He was spending the day sipping butterbeer and exchanging stories again at the Dursleys. It had become something of a tradition, and even the Dursleys didn't seem particularly bothered by the magical brew any longer. Dudley, for all his fear, had asked Harry for a taste of butterbeer back in early August, As the month progressed, he'd keep an ear trained towards the smallest bedroom, and the distinctive sound of drinks fizzing open. He'd knock on the door and send in a request; he didn't even seemed fazed by Moody any more.

Moody would conjure up some nice chairs and fireplace, and he'd reminisce on this or that battle – mostly against Death Eaters, but there was a considerable amount against the likes of Mundungus Fletcher, who Moody had apparently caught red-handed several times.

Summer had, honestly, been quite brilliant. Spending time with Mad-Eye had been surprisingly interesting. The man, though paranoid like no other, was quite capable of being amiable and even kind, though the frequent rituals of secrets, training, and questions and answers got tiring.

"I'm going to miss this, Alastor." Harry said, chugging from his butterbeer, staring into the fire. "I could really get used to this lifestyle – maybe throw in some excitement." Moody didn't answer – he was busy sipping from a bottle of firewhiskey.

"Don't worry about it, Harry – it's been good for me too: I'm itching to get back on the field, but I can't say it was a terrible few months. It's been ages since I had a proper vacation. " Moody rubbed a hand over his peg-leg and grinned vaguely. " You could probably arrange an apprenticeship in the future, with your history: like what we did with Occlumency, but an area more of your choosing. If I were still employed as an Auror I'd offer it myself."

"Will you be at the station tomorrow?" Harry asked, curious – Moody had been rather tight-lipped on what he was doing for the Order, particularly in these last few weeks.

Moody grunted non-committally, taking another drink. "I might be there. Don't know what Albus has planned, honestly – probably purposefully. I won't be at the school – 'fraid I'll be burying an old friend. Death Eaters got 'im yesterday."

"That's terrible," Harry said, tiredly. There'd been a number of deaths during the summer –he'd had mostly heard about them from Moody, who had a subscription to the Daily Prophet, though he didn't lend them out freely: Harry didn't know if it was because the paper had more disparaging nonsense, or whether the paper was getting _too_ graphic and truthful, or if it was just Moody's paranoia. Regardless, he'd been relieved when he didn't recognize the names, though Moody had sighed at quite a few: almost all the Auror fatalities (and there were nearly a dozen at last count) had studied under the ex-Auror at some point.

Sitting on the comfy couch, deep in thought, Harry didn't expect a sensation of pain and fire blazing through him, fading almost immediately into a mellow haze. Harry tiredly took out the small notebook in his pocket and noted the time and place. For some time now, the attacks through his link had been fading in intensity; this last one was too weak to really even distract him. He'd just jot down the basics and hand it over to Dumbledore at the earliest opportunity. "I really wonder what on earth this fire thing is about." Harry muttered, as he noticed Moody was watching him. "It's not nearly as wild as back in the beginning, but still ... You don't suppose the Unspeakables did anything about it, do you?"

"You didn't hear yourself, did you?" Moody asked, his voice soft. "You're creepy, you know. I'd be terrified of losing control like that – heck, I _am _terrified, and it's not even happening to me! As for the Ministry, they'd probably not erase your memory if they were trying to help you with something important. Besides, the decrease in severity seems to have been pretty steady."

"I said nonsense again, I guess?" Harry figured it'd be the usual mix of silly poetry – it'd been that way for as long as Moody had observed the attacks.

"Usual gibberish about clean bones, wind, moon." Moody said, nodding, brow furrowed. "You'd best warn your friends on the train about this, or they'll have a fright or two the first time."

The attacks, though less traumatizing, had increased in frequency: there was now barely a day without a brief surge of fire and feeling like a megalomaniac. Luckily, it appeared that Harry's training in Occlumency had advanced far enough to largely block it out; or, enough to keep him from turning into a loony. It seemed like his scar was back to the way it had been early in summer – not much more than a regular scar. He supposed Luna, at least, would probably be able to empathise with being a bit loony.

Harry's school trunk had been packed several days ago, filled to the brim with school supplies and his personal effects: the invisibility cloak, photo albums, and even – after some deliberation – the books his mother had left behind. The book of poetry was lodged firmly besides Dumbledore's book on Ministry regulations and Hermione's gifts. It'd be difficult to fit in another pair of socks, and Harry briefly wondered if he should order a multi-compartment trunk of his own for Christmas. He'd ask Moody about them later.

A few times he found himself fingering the letter from the Ministry that he'd received –it was now entirely blank, not even showing the drawing of a wand. He'd tried tapping it with his wand again, but it hadn't reacted. These days it spent most of its time in his back pocket – irrationally, perhaps, but Harry was hesitant to throw it away.

* * *

Potions Master Severus Snape was having a rather boring holiday: it was so dull, in fact, that he'd elected to refilling potion stocks for St. Mungo's hospital and the Hogwarts Infirmary just to get his mind off things. Muttering under his breath as he stashed another bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion into the holding crate – it could hold about a hundred bottles, and was charmed to keep the potions from spoiling. The potion recipe itself had been – _edited _– by Snape to further increase the product's longevity and potency. As it was, the crate and bottles would keep the potions for two months, – maybe more – making them some of the best potions of their kind available on the market.

Few people knew the extent of his brewing skills, Severus considered as he poured armadillo bile into two cauldrons that were softly bubbling away. For years now he'd been busy trying to teach pathetically ungifted schoolchildren about the art, and the general opinion among practically all his students was one of intense dislike or fear of their teacher. Severus was well aware he was aggravating that situation, and it had been the source of many a heated discussion with the headmaster.

Only a few more days, and the halls would again stream full with the little tykes, and he'd be back on the job, having entirely too little time to study the myriad subjects he'd taken an interest in. If that wasn't enough, Albus had chosen today to tell him that he'd once again need to educate the Gryffindor Golden Boy, Potter, in the Mind Arts. After the disaster that had been their last Occlumency lesson, he'd hoped that the impossible relationship was cut _permanently _short. Now Albus had to go and forcibly mix oil and water again. Snape wasn't so far gone he thought Potter had volunteered for this; it was beyond doubt that it was the headmaster's latest attempt at nudging them towards reconciliation.

Severus carefully measured out five short tentacles of Flitterbloom, and dropped them in the largest cauldron – an on-going batch of the Wolfsbane potion, which he was once again supplying to Remus Lupin. This particular dose had a larger than usual concentration of Wolfsbane flowers, by Lupin's request, and Severus had to admit a certain curiosity in hearing the effects of his various variations on the potion. It wasn't easy to find werewolves willing to submit themselves to experimental brews like this, and, truthfully, Snape felt some degree of pride that he'd been trusted as potion brewer in this manner.

Of course, he didn't get much praise or acknowledgement from most people, even within the Order. His activities as a spy were infrequent and, thus far, decidedly unexciting; the Dark Lord had not requested Snape to be at any of his attacks, and had only very occasionally talked about his forthcoming plans in his presence. It was clear that there was little trust between them. Of course, he'd noted that the Dark Lord had chosen to limit the number of people summoned at any one time; most likely a way to sift out traitors.

It was all rather amateurish, Severus had to admit. The Dark Lord had little experience in treacherous followers, as he knew most of his old followers as well as they knew themselves; or he thought he did, in any case. The new recruits – and there were a lot of those – were too numerous to keep track of individually, and spies would be ridiculously easy to slip in. The Dark Lord, realizing his predicament, had implemented his first measure of defence, dismissing those who raised criticisms of his method. Snape had noticed the disappointed looks that a few purebloods had tried to hide, and couldn't help but smirk. He was glad that he, as a veteran member, was required to wear his mask at meetings; nobody could know what he thought of the situation. Of course, there was always the possibility that the Dark Lord was playing a far more devious game ...

"Severus?" a familiar voice called from the corridor, and the irritable Potions master threw open the door immediately, a scowl marring his face. Dumbledore, of course. The old man was dressed in preposterous purple robes again. He didn't seem particularly joyful today, though, for which Severus was thankful. He'd seen enough of that side of the headmaster to last him two lifetimes.

"What are you doing at my door at one in the morning? I've potions to finish, and they won't brew themselves," Severus snapped, gesturing to the chair and taking his own, eyeing the bubbling potions: they could do without his direct attention for a short time. "You were aware I'd be at breakfast, tomorrow?"

"I've been thinking on several memories I retrieved from one of our students, this summer. He's been experiencing atypical waking nightmares that seem to resemble, pardon me, an ancient, rather painful, purification ritual – I've read about the ritual in ancient texts, but thought the spell itself had been destroyed." Dumbledore stroked his beard, glancing at Severus over his glasses. "I will not insult your intelligence – Mr. Potter has been seeing quite a bit of me over the summer, and I have promised to research the cause of his plight. I have been hypothesizing about Tom's involvement. Evidence, however, suggests we may be dealing with something else – we've known Tom's activities during several of the episodes, and he has never been seen working ritual magic at those times, or any other. Indeed, several reports state that Tom seemed distracted and inaccurate with his spells at those times. I think that perhaps Tom, like Harry, is experiencing a certain mental backlash."

"Does the experience originate with Potter?" Severus asked, trying to ignore the negative comments that tempted to slip into his every description of the 'boy-who-lived'. "Is it possible that instead of the Dark Lord causing Potter's discomfort, Potter's instead causing the Dark Lord's?" Severus hesitated, then sighed. "It seems beyond Potter's abilities."

Dumbledore stared at the bubbling cauldrons around the room, deep in thought. "I had considered the possibility, but discarded it – although Harry has the potential to become quite a wizard, he's not tapped into this to the degree that Tom or I have – or even you, Severus. He's not powerful enough in his magic to overcome Voldemort's mental shields; not consciously, at least. Unconsciously, however, is another matter. Intense emotions might be able to slip through. Without magic on either Harry's or the Dark Lord's part, though, I see precious few possible scenarios that are workable at all. The bond between them is not nearly the most powerful in existence, so it seems to me unlikely that it would have bizarre magical properties, even considering the method of its creation."

Severus shrugged, stepping over to the largest cauldron to give it a few good stirs. "If you want my thoughts on the matter, I believe it may be something left over from the Dark Lord's attempted possession at the Ministry. Possession is a particularly volatile magical connection, and it may have had unintended effects on both their minds. Potter's, as the less disciplined, would likely have taken the brunt of the impact. These experiences may simply be ghost pains from the damage done." Severus himself however, grimaced at his explanation. "The problem is, direct damage to the mind would be rather obvious. Mad-Eye has been working with the boy for weeks, and he's not reported anything significant or worrying."

"We find ourselves with quite the conundrum," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling slightly. "I have full confidence that you will be able to find an explanation where I cannot – you have considerably more knowledge about the disreputable side of magic, which I believe may be involved. I've looked into elementalism, channelling, pyromancy ... Though this resembles all of the disciplines in that fire is involved, none of them have any obvious connection besides that – I believe you'll agree that magic involving heat isn't a sufficiently narrow research field."

"Potter should better be thankful for the time I spend on his problems," Severus muttered after a moment, though Dumbledore pretended not to hear. "Leave the memories. I'll study them in my pensieve. I'll finish these potions and start immediately. Hopefully it means I can get back to something riveting tomorrow."

"I have every confidence in your abilities, Severus. Never doubt that," the headmaster made his way out of the room, and vanished down the corridor. Severus was tempted to acknowledge the praise. After the footsteps finally died down, it was back to brewing. Tonight would be another long haul – and so close to the new school year. It was enough to drive a man crazy.

* * *

"Get up, loafer." Moody said gruffly, as he exited his trunk and stepped into the smallest bedroom. It was the first of September, and Harry had ignored two loud alarms that'd been ringing in his room for the better part of five minutes. "I'll be side-along apparating you to the barrier, and you'll be on your own from there. I have an appointment to keep."

The Dursleys, as usual, didn't have much to say – Aunt Petunia just gaped at the two wizards, now properly dressed in Wizarding robes.

"I'll be going now," Harry said to his aunt. Uncle Vernon had already left for work – he'd barely been seen around the house at all while Moody was there – and Dudley had already left with his friends. "Hopefully I won't have to come back here – but if I do, you'll see me sometime next summer."

He grabbed hold of his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage when he heard a distinctive stomping gait; Hedwig, of course, had elected to fly to Hogwarts, as she'd been bored. Wizards taking care of the mail left her with little to do over the summer.

Moody didn't warn him: from one moment to the next, he felt like he was being sucked up through a straw – he couldn't quite breathe and he frantically tried to pull air into his lungs – and, with a slight pop, he managed it, staggering. When he looked around he noticed they were standing in a small alcove, a stone's throw from the large red locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express.

"Here's where I say goodbye, I suppose," Moody said sadly. "Don't know if we'll be seeing each other again soon. I doubt I'll get stationed at Hogwarts – Dumbledore has plenty of people here already, I reckon. If you're ever in the Ministry, look me up. I've got the sneaking suspicion I'll be frequenting my old colleagues."

With a friendly handshake the two parted. Harry quickly crossed through Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, already quite busy with wizards, witches, and a horde of young children. Harry felt old walking across the platform; he saw only a few faces from his year, though there seemed to be first- and second- years all over the place.

"Bloody hell," Harry heard from somewhere behind him, and he spun on his heels recognizing the voice. He almost immediately spotted the dense concentration of bright red hair, and sauntered over. Ron still hadn't noticed him; he seemed to be having a strongly worded discussion with Ginny, while Hermione, also sporting a bright red hairdo, looked on in mixed amusement and exasperation.

"Hey, Weasleys," Harry said, prodding Ron in the side. One startled yelp and a cry of 'Harry!' later, he found himself being hugged – by Ginny, no less, blushing tremendously she let him go.

"The colour won't come off for a few hours." She said smartly, while Ron came up with a grin that mirrored Ginny's.

With a grimace, Harry grabbed his wand – he was terribly glad he could use magic again – and conjured a mirror. Sure enough, his hair was now bright Weasley red, and he noticed a number of freckles on his face that didn't belong. "Quite a nice effect, I admit. Fred and George's work, I suppose?"

Ginny chuckled, as she blushed again. "That's actually one of mine. Fred and George bought it from me for ten galleons though, so you'll probably see it in stores eventually. I hear they're also making ones to make you look like a Malfoy. I imagine they'll ask you, too."

"Looking like a bespectacled, scarred git isn't our idea of a great day," George said, as he appeared from somewhere behind Mr. Weasley, who was conversing with another man who'd apparently also been the target of the Weasley hex. "Indeed Fred, whatever would we do all day? Harry's already beat us to all the giant snakes, werewolves, and dragons. It would be rather boring."

"Good to see you two," Harry said, smiling. "How's business going? Shouldn't you be out there, selling your stuff, instead of hanging out here? It's not like you're getting on the train."

"Business, of course, is booming. Not too many customers on the first day of school, though. We're just here to see off the little ones off." Fred said with a fiendish grin.

"Perhaps we planted a few pranks and hexes in the train as well. We might've done that." George nodded, and pointed to the very end of the train. "We might've put a rather strong wobbling charm on that last carriage there, which might mean you'd better search another compartment."

Fred followed with a grin, "Though, it might've been some other car."

"You two are incorrigible!" Hermione said, sounding both amused and appalled at the same time. Fred and George merely laughed, and with a wave they went to talk to a Ravenclaw Harry vaguely recognized – she'd had blond hair before, but it'd just turned into a fair approximation of Ginny's hair.

"How's your summer been, mate?" Ron asked, glancing at Hermione. "Your letters were rather vague on the details, honestly. Wish you could've come over for some Quidditch at the Burrow. Though, we weren't home much."

"I think the letter situation is Alastor's fault: he's paranoid about everything, and he's been rubbing off on me," Harry admitted – he received incredulous stares back. "Mad-Eye Moody, y'know. He's been living in my house for most of the summer."

"Blimey," Ron exclaimed. "A crazy deranged Auror in your house, and you came here intact? You must have more luck than any of us realized."

Hermione joined Harry in a lighthearted laugh, as Harry relayed some of his more comical Mad-Eye moments. He'd heard Moody take out his eye so many times he could imitate the sound nearly perfectly. He entertained the Weasleys for a moment with his impression of the man: glancing around suspiciously, making sure his wand was not in his back pocket, ambling back and forth while complaining loudly of inferior peg-legs.

Hermione, it turned out, had been studying during summer; Harry figured this was news in about the same way 'Water still wet' was. Ron, astonishingly enough, had joined Hermione for a while now, studying NEWT-level Charms and Transfiguration. Due to being in a magic-saturated house with many adult wizards present, they hadn't run any risk by using spells. Noted, Mrs. Weasley had been quite cross with them after they'd transfigured dust bunnies into actual bunnies, which had proceeded to nibble on the antique furniture in the storage room. Evidently, something in the charm went wrong and the bunnies in question had ended up with the mind-set of a deranged termite – Hermione theorized it was the inflection on part of the incantation they'd gotten wrong, though Harry tuned that out. Judging from his expression, so did Ron.

"Shouldn't we be getting on the train?" Harry said as the whistle blew. Most of the students had slowly been boarding while they talked. With a quick goodbye and a hug from Mrs. Weasley Harry was on his way, Ron and Hermione close behind him. Ginny trailed after, joining up with Neville and Luna, who'd been on the other end of the platform.

They quickly found an entirely empty compartment, though the slight trembling they felt made them wary to stay there. Walking down the train, there was eventually another empty – seemingly normal – compartment.

"It's good to get back to the Wizarding world," Harry grinned, grabbing one of the sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had prepared. "Living among muggles, even with Mad-Eye, isn't terribly interesting."

Luna, as usual, had pulled out the latest Quibbler and was dutifully reading it upside-down; or downside-up, as she'd surely call it. "We could always break into the Ministry again," she said dreamily. "It didn't turn out like we thought it would, but it was quite an adventure, wasn't it?"

Neville coughed at that, and looked at her with some nervousness. "Luna, I think we're probably done with doing that kind of thing. I don't think they'd be very lenient the second time around."

Luna shrugged, continuing to study her paper. "The Unspeakables weren't awfully upset at what we did, I thought. I'm troubled they were just going along with the Rotfang conspiracy, but their compliments seemed genuine."

Harry snapped up at the mention of the Unspeakables. "I can't remember the Ministry questioning us."

"Oh, of course we were memory charmed," Luna started, finally looking up. "They use Wrackspurt magic though – and I'm protected from that. You could be too, you know – I'll make you a nice necklace when we get to Hogwarts."

Harry agreed awkwardly. Luna had always been odd, and he honestly wasn't terribly surprised that memory charms didn't work on her. He briefly wondered if she'd even need Occlumency to ward off a Legilimens. Maybe he'd bring up the topic with Dumbledore.

Ginny, who'd been chatting with Hermione, suddenly turned to him. "Harry, what _did_ Mad-Eye do all day in your house? I can't imagine the muggles were terribly interested in talking to him."

"We did quite a bit of Occlumency training, and he spent a lot of time telling a thousand-and-one tales of his time as an Auror. He also did who-knows-what in his magical trunk, but I wasn't really privy to what that was. You might have noticed, but he's a bit paranoid."

Hermione beamed at him. "Occlumency training? I'm glad that Professor Dumbledore was able to find someone besides Professor Snape – I've been worried about how we were going to convince you to go back to training this year."

"I am going back to Snape's lessons," Harry said, making a face – Neville responded by shuddering. "I hope that 'remedial potions' is more civil this year. Honestly, it couldn't get much worse."

"We'll keep an eye out for the greasy git, you know that." Ron commented, snacking on one of a considerable number of sandwiches he'd taken from home. "We won't let Snape within a hundred yards of you outside class."

Harry nodded in thanks, thinking back on his OWL results which had arrived a while ago. He had traded a few letters over the subject with Hermione, though Ron seemed largely uninterested in the topic. Harry had, with some relief, managed to score high enough to enter all Auror-required NEWT subjects; the downside, of course, was two more years of Snape. "I suppose after fighting Death Eaters and being possessed by Voldemort, Snape's not entirely high on my list of scares nowadays."

Neville inhaled sharply at Harry's casual mention of Voldemort, but nodded resolutely. "I found a Boggart in our cellar this summer. They don't turn into Snape anymore. I won't be taking his class this year, so I suppose I won't see much of him. Thank goodness."

"We'll probably see less of each other than usual," Luna said airily. "Especially you, Harry. Better keep an eye out for any lethal potions."

Harry nodded uncertainly, as Neville and Ron gave confused shrugs. Hermione had a calculated look on her face – Harry briefly wondered if she'd finally decided to try and decode what the Ravenclaw was talking about. He wished her good luck.

A voice resounded from outside the door, and Harry recognized that smug voice immediately: Malfoy. It might as well have been tradition at this point – Malfoy would come and insult them, and eventually stomp off in a huff. Harry resigned himself to yet another load of verbal abuse.

"Well, Potter, what have we here? A whole compartment of bad blood and incompetence?" Draco Malfoy drawled, as he slid open the compartment door. "I knew you had bad company before, but you're not improving matters. What's next, you'll get that oaf Hagrid in here?"

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron grumbled angrily. "We'll see quite too much of you during at school, I reckon."

Malfoy huffed, then looked straight at Harry. "You'd better be careful, Potter. My father might not be on the board of governors any more, but my family still has quite a bit of power. Step over the line, and you'll find that they're quite likely to expel you."

"You'd better watch out yourself, Draco" Harry answered grimly, "I'm afraid that without your daddy, you'll have precious little money to bribe your problems away."

Malfoy paled, his nostrils flaring. "You know nothing, Potter. Keep an eye on your food, it might just be poisoned."

"Get out of our compartment, Malfoy." Hermione said curtly, raising her wand. "Otherwise, we'll find out just what you look like without hair."

Malfoy took off instantly, sneering at Harry until he was out of sight. Hermione sighed and put her wand away – Neville was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before, and Ron was grinning.

"Brilliant, Hermione! You should do that more often! Though – it doesn't seem like something a prefect would do. You _are_ a prefect, right?" Ginny inquired.

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Professor McGonagall told me I'd have to pick between taking all my NEWT subjects or the prefect badge – otherwise we'd need another time-turner, and I'm doubtful they'd give me one again."

"Typical Hermione," Ron said, grinning. "She's given the choice between more classes or the ability to boss around first-years around and roaming the halls after curfew. Guess which she picks?"

"You know," Harry said, "Three people have told me to worry about poisons today. I'm wondering if they're trying to tell me something." He looked apprehensively at the sweets Neville had piled in his lap. "Those aren't Fred and George's, are they? Maybe I should take these warnings to heart."

The rest of the train trip was spent bantering about summer, insulting Malfoy, and reminiscing on previous years. Harry shared a few of Moody's crazier tales; Neville actually recognized a few of them from his grandmother. Luna spent quite a bit of time just listening to the conversation, though she'd commented on the merits of eating carrots when Neville had described his summer's work, which involved gardening and disposal of magical pests.

When they were nearly at their destination and everyone had put on their school robes, Harry decided it was time for his warning. "Listen, guys ... The reason I spent most of my summer with Moody in the house was because of something Voldemort's been doing. It's like last year," Harry was glad to see there were no gasps this time, though Neville seemed unnerved. "He's been sending me weird visions – or something – and Dumbledore hasn't really figured out what's going on yet. But, if you ever see me space out or start talking gibberish, you know what's going on."

"You speak Gibberish?" Luna wondered out loud, "It's a dialect of Gobbledegook, I believe. That's very interesting, Harry. I didn't know there were any human speakers of that language."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's just English, but it doesn't make much sense; it's mostly bits of poetry I've read before. I'm just saying so you won't jump out of your skin. Honestly, knowing my luck, I'd expect it to happen when Malfoy strode in. At least it'd have given him a nice scare."

"Can you imagine?" Ron said with a gleam in her eye. "Harry quoting some love poem at Malfoy? He would've run to the other side of the train like a dementor was chasing him."

They shared a good laugh at that, as each came up with increasingly ludicrous scenarios. Harry stayed out of the conversation, nervously pondering what Malfoy might do if he ever found Harry twitching and quoting Hamlet: expelled for temporary insanity? Harry kept out of the conversation from then on, as Ron made humorous hypotheses on why Voldemort would be reading poetry, or having Harry read it for him.

* * *

Later that evening, after the feast, Harry made his way through the castle's winding hallways – it was good to be back in Hogwarts. The food, as usual, was delicious, and thankfully Dumbledore hadn't spent much time on announcements, beyond a warning of the presence of Aurors on the grounds due to the return of Voldemort. Snape hadn't even been in the Great Hall, nor the new defence teacher – whoever it was, as he or she hadn't been introduced.

Harry took a left and finally the familiar gargoyle came in sight. "Ice Mice" he muttered, as he made his way up to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore had tapped him on his shoulder just after the feast, and requested a quick talk.

"Come in, Harry" Dumbledore said before Harry could knock, and with a shrug he strolled right in. He paled slightly as he noticed Professor Snape, glowering, was seated at the other side of the room. Dumbledore wasn't expecting him to have an Occlumency lesson right here, right now, was he?

"Good evening, Potter," Snape said gruffly, his face a mask. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking on with interest. "I trust you had an enjoyable summer."

"Yes, Professor," Harry answered with some surprise. "Yourself?"

"It was satisfactory," Snape answered.

"I asked you here tonight for a reason," Dumbledore suddenly started, after a brief uncomfortable silence had settled in the office. "I hope you don't mind, but Professor Snape here has been helping me analyse the memories you gave me over the summer."

Harry nodded, concerned. Professor Snape reached into his robes and retrieved a flask full of memories – they seemed oddly dark grey. "Your memories have become somewhat diluted, hence the colour change. I have used several potion mixes to attempt to bring out the detail. I have been going through the first few in particular, but I've been limited by my inability to fully comprehend the experience – memories are approximations at best. The headmaster, intriguingly, doesn't experience anything whatsoever from these memories."

Dumbledore nodded, looking over his glasses with concern. "I had thought for some time that you were still possessed by Tom, or possibly damaged by his possession. It took me some time to consider trusting others with this information – I asked Remus, who had a powerful reaction; I was able to gain a good description from him, though even his experience – which diluted the memory further – was incomplete."

"I have my hypotheses on why that is, of course." Snape commented, his eyes narrowing. "It might have something to do with Dark magic – as you know, Lycanthropy is considered to be dark magic, and I myself am intimately familiar with it due to experience. Although I'm not aware of Potter's experience with the Dark Arts, it seems plausible."

Harry swallowed, thinking back to the Ministry and what he'd tried to do to Bellatrix. "Would ... would an attempt count? I … tried to use the Cruciatus curse." Harry began, and Snape hissed. "It was just after Sirius died – I wasn't thinking straight, and Bellatrix was right there in front of me. It just sort of knocked her down, it didn't actually torture her, I think – she said that you really had to mean it. I wasn't strong enough –"

Dumbledore nodded, looking somewhat relieved. "To deplore hurting another living thing – even Bellatrix – is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry – failure to cast the curse is a sign of utmost strength and character, not weakness." he looked up at Snape, and continued. "I'm afraid, though, that I have used the Dark Arts in the past – although I've never used them on human beings, quite a few of my early experiments had much to do with the darker side of magic. I have used the Killing Curse before, though only once, to find out if I could."

Snape nodded, looking somewhat surprised. "Very well. I'm afraid, Potter, that we'll have to step up our Occlumency lessons in order to get these visions under sufficient control that you will not be too distracted by them. If you were ever to be in a fight, it would be highly disadvantageous for you to stop in your tracks and expound on the birds and bees." Snape smiled, a truly frightening sight. "Furthermore, I request that during the weekend, you will spend some hours in the potions lab, preferably with your Occlumency inhibited. I will make an oath not to rummage in your memories, if that sets your mind at ease; I wish to use Legilimency to experience one of these visions first-hand – being in your mind, it should not have the same problems as the memories you gave the Headmaster."

Harry nodded dumbly, looking at Snape as if he'd never seen him before. "You're ... expressing an awful lot of interest, Professor."

Snape scoffed and glared. "You've caught my professional interest, Potter – for that reason, and that reason alone, I have chosen to ignore some of our differences. I will not be ignoring your many serious faults in class, believe me."

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore chided. "You will note that a conversation from neutrality has thus far not descended into petty squabbling and mutual insults; if you were both to spend some energy into avoiding unnecessary confrontation, you'd both be better off."

Snape didn't answer with anything but a glare, and left the office. Dumbledore, meanwhile, took out a sherbet lemon and sighed contentedly. "I am glad to have you back at Hogwarts, Harry, though I have my suspicions that certain other parties might make this year difficult. I will always try to help you."

"Malfoy already threatened me," Harry said, frowning. "It was sort of weird. I thought he was insulting me at the time, but looking back now –"

"You'll find that many people are more than they appear," Dumbledore said sagely. "Especially those that you think you've understood. Now, a few words of advice: I would suggest silencing charms on your bed, in the case of any nightmares you may have, and any potential repeat of Tom's attacks on your mind. I'd also recommend scheduling a meeting with Professor Snape – not only is some swiftness advisable, but I do not believe that Professor Snape will set aside his grudges for very long."

Harry nodded, and stood up, sighing. "Between you, Professor Snape, and Mad-Eye, I feel like the whole world is revolving around me. I hardly feel capable of talking to you three on equal footing."

Dumbledore smiled happily, walking over to the many little devices Harry remembered smashing. Quite a few new ones had appeared since last June. "Not many people other than you and I can lay claim to fighting Lord Voldemort directly, Harry – and, indeed, multiple times. We both have experience fighting Death Eaters as well, and we've both survived every encounter. I hope that, in our future, we will also share the honour of defeating a Dark Lord."

Harry nodded as Dumbledore twirled on one of his many devices – it gave a whistle and a hiccup. "I don't feel like I'm up to the task, headmaster. I might be a decent enough sixth-year, but that doesn't seem like a very good foil for a powerful dark wizard."

"You were only a first-year when you first fought – and defeated – Tom." Dumbledore said simply. "And let's not forget you slew his basilisk at age twelve. I do believe you are underestimating yourself severely."

Harry, thinking back on his discussion at Privet Drive, figured there was a good test for this; casting wandlessly. He held up his hand and concentrated on the little device he just touched; he said "_Accio_." This was something, Dumbledore had admitted, he couldn't manage wandlessly.

The device flew up to his hand instantly. Dumb-struck, he turned it around in his hand, wondering just what it meant to be able to do that. Was he really talented? He didn't think so – his spells hadn't ever been particularly overpowered, and he'd usually taken longer to learn them than a good portion of students in his year. With a frown, he placed it back where it came from, and concentrated on the globe he'd often seen at the other end of the room. "_Accio globe."_'

With a rumble and a snap, the large globe came rolling at him. at the last moment Harry lowered his hand and it stopped against his feet with a dull thud: it had quite some weight behind it. After a moment he noticed that the metal surrounding it was bent – the globe had been stuck to a device, which he'd just ruined. Embarrassed, he turned to Dumbledore, who was looking at Harry with mirth in his eyes. "I'm afraid I ruined another one of your possessions," Harry tried apologetically.

"Nonsense, nonsense," Dumbledore said, as he quickly floated the globe to his old position. One _Reparo_ later, the globe seemed good as new. "I believe that little demonstration should set your mind at ease. You have significant control already over your wandless magic – more so than most people I've known. You'll find that, with practice, you will be able to summon heavier objects – perhaps you'll even be able to summon that globe through the air as you did with my letter opener, instead of simply rolling it over to you. Admittedly, I'd hope you would loosen it first, lest you break it again."

Harry nodded, staring wonderingly at his hand. He'd have to go and test this sometime soon – maybe get the rest of the Ministry Six together and see if he could figure out how it worked, and if any of them could also manage it. "I suppose if I practice enough ..." he said lightly, then smirked. "I'm betting Fred and George would have a field day with wandless spells."

"I am sure they would," Dumbledore answered with a chuckle. "I can remember very well how I used to – well, I'm not one to brag."

On his way back to Gryffindor Tower – he'd used his invisibility cloak, as it was past curfew – he'd come across Filch and spent some minutes whispering under his breath, trying to get a mild itching curse to work wandlessly. When the caretaker eventually started trying to get to the middle of his back with his broom, he let out a small cry of excitement; the itch was fast forgotten, and Harry had to nearly sprint back to the Common Room – the Weasley twins would be proud, he was sure.

Hermione, unsurprisingly, was reading; Ron, unsurprisingly, was sleeping. They'd clearly been waiting in the Common Room for some time. There was nobody else left on the squishy chesterfields, and the curtains were closed. "Good evening," Harry whispered, as he slipped off his cloak. "What're you reading?"

Hermione looked up, unsurprised. "Dumbledore must've had quite a talk with you; you've been gone for nearly an hour," she raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You didn't go exploring with your cloak, did you?"

Harry laughed guiltily, nudged Ron awake, then launched into a brief summary of what he'd talked about. He left out some bits, – he figured neither Snape nor Dumbledore would've liked him to blabber about the whole meeting –ending with his itching spell on Filch, which earned him a stern glance, though it was quickly replaced by Hermione's usual scholarly curiosity.

"Could you summon the fire poker? It's not too heavy -"

Harry did so with a softly spoken "_Accio poker_," and found that his spell wasn't nearly as precise as his wand-casted one. He found himself, quite suddenly, completely covered in poker chips that had come sailing from a student's bag that had been forgotten next to the fireplace. "I think I'll have to work on that one."

Ron, still groggy, was trying to work a kink out of his neck. "Can we talk about this in the morning? I could use a good sleep."

Ron and Harry found Neville in their dormitory, tending to a few tiny plants arranged beside his bed. "They'll make it smell nice and fresh," he explained. "I got a few of them from Professor Sprout for helping her out last year. I even have some Flitterbloom and Dittany."

"That's nice, Neville," Ron commented sleepily, as he crawled into his bed.

"Night, Ron," Neville responded, winking at Harry. "Luna told me I should warn you about big cloaks. Not entirely sure what she meant, but there you have it."

Harry nodded uncertainly. The only image that came to mind was a vague outline of a chin surrounded by a long blue cloak, chuckling.

* * *

The dark haired man wasn't very fond of waiting, and tapped impatiently on his desk. "What's taking so long?" he asked the air. The response came from a blond woman did, who'd just stepped into the office from the long hallway.

"Stop your whining. He's probably stuck considering all his options. You know as well as I do that there have been times where the application procedure took months. There was that one time – "

"Yes, yes, I know my history," the man grunted, annoyed. "Seemed to me to be a shoe-in, that's all. Weirdness isn't so much ground for disqualification as it is for promotion."

"It's... complicated," the woman answered. "There are numerous sides to consider. We both know that if this got out, we'd have no chance of alliance any more. We'd be stuck."

She only got a grunt in response. After a moment, the woman continued: "Honestly, let the higher-ups decide. If they figure it's worth the risk, then who are we to disagree? Besides, you have enough work to do: there's a whole new group of D-class personnel coming in tomorrow."

"Freakin' zombies," the man muttered, glaring at the paperwork piling on his desk. "Very well, I think I can go without screaming in annoyance for a while longer."

The woman smirked and left the way she came – the rhythmic tapping of fingers on desk swiftly resumed.

* * *

**Author's Note :** Betaread by Helen Racine.

This is about where things get interesting. ^^


	3. Premonition : Foresight

**Chapter 3 : Foresight**

Searing heat burned through his body like a torrent, scorching down his extremities and tortuously making their way through his gut, which felt like a volcano set to explode. The conflagration exploded behind his eyes and with a torturous cry, he fell back into the chair. Without warning the strange sensation of separateness returned, and with some effort, Harry managed to reassert his Occlumency barriers, shoving Snape out of his head in the process.

Snape was on his knees, taking in short breaths. Harry slumped in his chair, sighing, already mostly recovered from the ordeal. Looking back on it, dropping his Occlumency barriers just for Snape's curiosity seemed like a terrible decision. At least, he reasoned, he knew for certain now that it was his increasing ability in using Occlumency that was muting the experiences, not just the passage of time. With a groan, Snape finally made his way back to his feet.

"Your warning about the pain was severely understated, Potter," the hook-nosed man finally spat. "Had I known the pain was so severe, I'd not subjected myself to the full blast of it. My head is ringing like a church bell."

Harry shrugged, sitting up in the chair. "I didn't know it'd be back to full strength like this – I've never had a shared vision before, as you well know, Snape. I figured you could handle a little pain, anyway."

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter." Snape said with a gleam in his eyes. "You will call me Professor, if you must speak to me at all."

Harry smirked knowingly. "Let's not get on that topic again. You know as well as I do that Professor Dumbledore is keeping an eye on us – I wouldn't want another repeat of last year's disaster. We were both idiots, then."

Snape grimaced. After some silent minutes he coughed and started again, seemingly having some trouble. "I... would like to apologize for any undue punishment I have given you in the past."

"That took you some effort," Harry commented slyly. "You'd almost think you were told to apologize."

"Curse you, brat, you know as well as I do that the headmaster requested it of me." Snape twirled around, scowling. "If it were my choice, I wouldn't spend a minute in the room with you. Since it isn't my choice, I have elected to at least make the experience bearable. Even if it costs me a considerable amount of pride to do so."

"You owe him a lot, don't you, the headmaster?" Harry asked, peering up at Snape towering over him. "If it were anyone else, you'd tell them to stuff it."

Snape looked at him for a bit, then nodded with some reluctance. "I do not believe you'd understand, but I believe Albus may have saved me from worse than death, multiple times. It is by his request alone that I dare don the mask of a Death Eater again, or that I freely walk towards the Dark Lord. I've chosen to bear that burden because Albus asked me if I would."

"You sounded almost respectful there," Harry noted dryly. "You don't act like you like him much."

"I don't 'like' him." Snape spat, slumping down in his chair, surveying the many potions ingredients that'd been left over after a fresh batch of nettle-bark potion. "I quite often find myself disagreeing with him on matters of politics, ethics, even the rights of muggles. I find myself appalled at his fashion, choice of food and general cheerfulness. I have trouble keeping my tongue when he goes on about yet another of his old friends, mad ideas or ideals."

"Yet you respect him." Harry asked, intrigued. "If he's such an antithesis to you, why would you choose to spend your time in his presence? Why do you even trust him?"

Snape scowled for a long time, the silence stretching. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you of all people, Potter. It's hardly a topic you have any reason to know about." Harry didn't answer. "I will keep my secrets." Snape finally said, dismissively.

"Tell me if it ever becomes important." Harry merely said, knowing full well that this was a matter he should stay well clear of. "I do prefer to stay informed."

Snape nodded absentmindedly, as he sighed. "I am... glad to see that you have matured somewhat since last year. See that you maintain this type of behaviour, and we might not end up at each other's throats again."

"I've had a lot of time to think," Harry said, shrugging. "What happened at the Ministry changed things, I think. None of us are quite the same, I think. Ron's more serious about his school work, Hermione's less focused on her studies alone, and Neville... he's grown a backbone, I'd say."

"Longbottom? I doubt it. Has been spineless since he set foot into this classroom." Snape stated, sneering.

"You don't see him much any more. I'm not surprised you didn't notice." Harry answered. "Luna – honestly, I don't think I could describe her if I wanted to. An enigma, that one."

"I recall there being six of you," Snape commented. "Any further nonsense you wish to deposit in my lap for consideration?"

Harry ignored the jibe. "Ginny's... well, she seems to have backed off a bit, if you ask me. I think the whole thing might've scared her a bit more than the rest of us. She's been a bit subdued compared to normal, I think."

"Miss Weasley, subdued? She seemed quite vocal in class."

"You don't see the full picture, Professor. Classes are just a few hours per week." Harry countered. "I believe she's having flashbacks to her first year. She knows that her Tom – the memory from the diary – was actually V... well, the Dark Lord, and I think it terrifies her that she carried around his thoughts. Maybe she believes Tom's still in her head, somewhere."

Another brooding silence descended on the room, and the two both sipped slowly from their tea.

"Do you suppose we'll win this war, Professor?"

"Of course we will, Potter. We'll have to. Dumbledore believes you may be the key to defeating the Dark Lord, and I trust in his instincts. Immature brat as you are, you have significant advantages that we can exploit. The Dark Lord will create his own downfall by the very fact that he thinks he knows what you are like, and what you'll do. He thinks you're inferior."

"Is he wrong about that? I am hardly magically superior to Dumbledore – or you, I hear." Harry asked, frowning.

"Of course he's wrong, you blithering idiot." Snape suddenly blurted. "I can think of few beings that aren't superior to the Dark Lords in several ways. You yourself, one might well say it is fated that you two shall meet again on the battlefield. You may not have the power or experience – yet – but you are the reckless Gryffindor to his Slytherin."

"What an interesting choice of words, Professor. Fated." Harry commented, "I would almost think you believe in the likes of Trelawney."

Snape's twitch to that was less than subtle – he almost knocked his tea from the table.

"I see," Harry said, worriedly. "The Headmaster must trust you a lot. I didn't think he'd have told anyone else about the prophecy."

"He didn't." Snape spat, turning away. "It's late, Potter. I will have to research further on your fiery visions may mean, and I cannot do it with you breathing over my shoulder. Dumbledore also expects me to find ways to entangle the Death Eaters in internal rivalries – a difficult task. Your presence makes it aggravatingly difficult to concentrate."

Harry nodded, and stood up. "If you bring down the Dark Lord while I'm sleeping, come fetch me. Otherwise, I'll see you in class." Snape merely snorted as he turned back to his desk, shaking his head.

Neither of them noticed the third person departing.

* * *

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody drank deeply from his flask, which he'd filled with the best firewhiskey he could find. It'd been well-tested for all types of poison, of course, as all his drinks always were. Tonight it was a particularly tough night, and that called for a good drink.

"Alastor, fancy meeting you here!" a voice called out, somewhat haphazardly.

"Go and fetch your bed, Meryn," Moody barked, glaring. "You've had far too much to drink already, and you really shouldn't hang around ex-aurors while out of your mind. You might just lose an eye or two."

"Got experience with that, do you?" the man, Meryn, bellowed. "Hah! Cat got your tongue?"

With a growl Moody whipped out his wand and blasted the drunk off his feet. "You'd better not be trying anything funny, I still have plenty of speed in the old bones to take on the likes of you."

"Stop whinin' Mad-Eye, most of us ain't done nothing worse than nick a few coins. We ain't exactly master thieves here, y'know. A man's gotta make a living, though." The speaker was a man in the corner that was taking deep swallows of a purple-and-green drink. "You ain't an auror any more, so stop your yapping."

"I might not be an auror any more, but that doesn't mean I stopped beating up punks who don't know better," Moody said in a soft voice. "If you don't watch out, I might just come over there and let you meet my leg from real close."

A jeer ran through the small crowd packed in the pub, and Moody turned around with a glare. "What're you looking at, lowlifes?"

"Oy, Alastor," A third voice said, softly. Moody's magical eye twirled madly until it find a face to fit it with.

"Arnold Peasegood! Can't remember speaking to you in weeks, though I guess with you one might never know, eh?" Moody gruffly said, smiling. "How've the years been taking care of you?"

"Good, good," Arnold said warily. "Being an Obliviator's getting on my nerves. Had some work for the Unspeakabes last week. Y'think obliviators are safe from being memory charmed? I can't remember what I ate for breakfast. If I had any breakfast at all, really."

"An' you people call me paranoid," Moody grumbled. "Why'd you sign up for working with the Department of Misery anyway?"

Peasegood snorted. "Misery. I like it. Honestly, it's good pay and if it's a boring job, you don't remember anyway. Besides, there haven't been any missing obliviators for years, I'm sure it's safe."

"Arnold," Moody said, grimacing. "You of all people should've realized that if any of 'em went missing, you'd probably not remember."

The other man gulped, paling. "I went and forgot about that. Honestly, I can't see how some people keep this up. I'm thinking of getting myself signed up with the Hitwizards one of these days – I'm a fair shot with the wand."

"Any particularly juicy news that you picked up, down there?" Moody asked, interested.

"Jus' some rumours, nothing particularly staggerin'. Heard that the guys from the Hall of Prophecy found themselves another seer, though apparently it's not a particularly good one. One of them creepy tactile ones, I hear. One of the members of the Temporal Division is visiting London, too. Hear he's waiting for a colleague to appear from some experiment to travel into the future." Arnold gulped from his glass, then continued, "Beyond that, not a lot. Haven't been in half the London branch, let alone anywhere else. Site 17 – that's what the international part's supposed to be – is pretty much completely missing. Some say it's been stuck in the late 70's for decades now, and they've relocated after it was lost."

Moody shuddered. "I'm interested 'cos one my students got an invitation for a meeting, as you predicted. I'm thinking they might be trying to recruit 'im. Ain't a Ministry worker at all, though, so I'm not sure. Thanks to you, I had a fair warning, at least."

"They do the meeting thing, sometimes," Arnold said, nodding. "I knew about, well, your student 'cos I got lucky, nothin' more. I don't understand them Unspeakables – sometimes, it seems they know who's gonna be recruited months or years before the person's even applied. Before they even think of applyin'. I hear the Temporal Division has something to do with that. You'd think they'd be stuck with the six hours limit, though, so maybe they're using prophecies or something." the man looked up at the barkeep and quickly ordered another drink, as he had run dry.

Interested, Moody looked up from his flask. "Six hours limit? What are you talking about? Figured that was just the public ones."

"First Law of Temporal Transportation : Don't go back more than six hours from your original time. I understand it's pretty unbeatable. Unspeakables have been workin' on it for centuries. You can't travel back in time further than that by using a time-turner again, either – you'd end up missing, forever. At least, that's what I've heard. I had a job once cleaning up after some poor sod tried to use a time-turner to save his girlfriend from being run over by a carriage. Didn't work, of course, so he forced the thing to go back again and again. Eventually he seems to have tried going back to the previous day to get 'er out of town. 'Fraid all we found was a pile of dust and teeth." Arnold looked at the bar, annoyed, tapping his fingers on the counter. "Oy, where's my drink? What's taking so long?"

"That's just downright creepy, that," Moody muttered, as he drunk some more from his flask. Thankfully, it was enchanted to have much more in it than was readily apparent. "Did you ever run into any of the Temporal Division blokes yourself?"

"Once. I don't care to repeat it. Seems that since going backwards isn't workin' out much, they've started trying to go forward. Problem is, of course, they can't go back and tell anyone. So they just sort of wait around to see if their ideas worked." Arnold seemed exasperated with it all. "Honestly I don't understand half of what I've seen of the Department of Mysteries, and I don't care to understand the rest. I think I've met the least weird of the lot."

Moody grunted into his whiskey. "You'd have to be a little crazy to fit in there, I reckon. Hope we'll see each other again, soon. I've got an owl to send."

* * *

It was late at night when a man cloaked in a dark blue flowing robe stepped lightly into Hogwarts. All the lit torches immediately extinguished as he moved past, only to rekindle afterwards. The moon, at least, was in the sky, so he had a little illumination through the many windows.

With a confident step he moved around a corner, heading for his destination : the headmaster's office. From a corner of his eye, he spied a glimmer of blue.

"_Petrificus_!" he said softly, waving his wand widely. It was a small boy, probably a first-year, Ravenclaw. The boy's eyes were wide and the man could smell the fear.

"I'm afraid I can leave no witnesses," the man said sadly. With a swish of his wand the boy slumped against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?" a second voice came – a girl's voice. "Have you been infested by Umgubular Slashkilters? They make you see things, you know."

Standing only a few feet away was Luna Lovegood, her wand raised as soft light illuminated the hallway from its tip. "It is nice to meet you, whoever you are."

"You're the Lovegood girl, aren't you?" the man said, in surprise. "I know Xenophilius, he's spoken about you before. Can't mistake that hair, can you? Aeron Croaker, at your service."

"Ah, I did meet you before, I remember!" Luna said, smiling slightly, "You asked me questions after the attack, last year. You didn't believe me about the Rotfang conspiracy. What did you do to Euan?"

Croaker raised an eyebrow, "You seem to have fared better against ministry obliviators than most, if you can remember that much. As for the boy, he'll wake up thinking he just fell asleep while wandering the castle. Won't remember anything."

"Why are you skulking around in the dark? If you want to catch anything interesting, you'd better look out in the forest." Luna frowned, "Why didn't you wipe your feet when you came in? You're just giving poor Mr. Filch more work."

"I have a legitimate reason to be here : I'm sent to talk to the headmaster. I was supposed to obliviate any witnesses, of course – I'll have to do that in a bit, if you don't mind – but I'm curious what your excuse is for being out past curfew?" Croaker shuffled his feet, somewhat on edge. What on earth was the girl doing here?

"I followed Euan out. He wanted to find the Unspeakable stalking through the halls." Luna answered frankly.

Croaker blanched at that. "How in the world did the boy know I'd be here?"

"I told him, of course," Luna answered matter-of-factly. "I just wanted to tell you that you will know where to find me, when you need me, and that you should make sure you don't have any Death Eaters among you. I'll probably remember telling you this in a few weeks so if you ignore it, I'll be quite cross with you. I think that was all of it."

"You're as nutters as your dad," Croaker muttered, "_Obliviate_. You were searching for Euan here, who fell asleep in the hallways. You just now found him. You'd best take him back to the dormitories."

Croaker left the two behind, striding off towards the Headmaster's office, muttering all the way. Luna looked after him in a daze, and though she didn't know why, she smiled slightly.

* * *

"Wormtail, stop grovelling." Voldemort commanded. The small man who'd been hunched over and bowing straightened up somewhat, though he refused to meet the Dark Lord's eyes.

"You truly are pathetic, Peter. You know I forgive you your errors – after the appropriate punishment. I have no interest in killing you at this time."

"T-Thank you, Lord," Wormtail answered, wincing. "Of course, my Lord."

"Bring in the ministry wizard, Wormtail. I will make a demonstration out of him." Voldemort smiled thinly, "Thank Lucius for me, will you?"

"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail answered, as he quickly moved out of the room, leaving the Dark Lord to think, alone.

"I know you're there, Potter." Voldemort finally stated. "I know, because I willed it. You're no longer capable of entering my mind at will – you, on the other hand, have no such choice in the matter. I wish you to observe what I shall do to you, when next we meet."

Wormtail returned to the room, dragging a bound body behind him – it was leaving a trail of blood-red droplets that disappeared around the corner. "I'm afraid he won't wake, my Lord."

"Leave us." Voldemort said imperiously, striding over with confident steps. "While your pathetic abilities may not rouse him, I assure you my own will be sufficient. I will not require company for the next hour."

Wormtail left quickly – Voldemort conjured a chair and levitated the unconscious man into it.

"This, Harry Potter, is Royden Poke. An employee in the Ministry, and under Imperius control for several months, until he was found out by Minister Scrimgeour, last month. He is, I'm afraid, thought to be a Death Eater by his ministry colleagues. They will not miss him."

Voldemort raised his hand lightly and spoke : "_Rennervate_."

"Wha? What's going on?" Poke said, groggily. "You look funny. What'd you do, splinch your nose?"

"Silence." Voldemort said harshly. "See here, Potter, the kind of person the Ministry would hire. He worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He is to make negotiations with the Goblins. There is little wonder why the Ministry has failed, thus far. I shall not."

Voldemort caressed the wizard's cheek. "This here is a rather nice analogy for our dear Ministry, don't you think, Potter? Bloated, full of himself, completely oblivious to what's going on around it, and entirely tied up in other affairs. Let us not forget the staggering lack of intelligence as well. Truly all it is missing is rabies, to represent the Minister."

Poke whimpered, as he finally snapped out of his daze. "I don't know anything, I swear! I can't – remember much. I've never had a very good memory. Please don't kill me!"

"Tell me, Royden, what do you know of the Department of Law Enforcement? The Minster, perhaps? Anything about the Department of Mysteries?" Voldemort slowly circled the chair. "You know none of these things, since you are useless. Why should I leave you alive?"

"I … I don't know anything," Poke tried again, whimpering. "I've told the others all I could, and one, I think, read my mind. My head hurts."

"Knowing nothing isn't beneficial to our relationship, Mr. Poke." Voldemort coldly replied. He suddenly aimed his wand at the slumping man. "_Crucio_." He watched on with a cold smile on his face as the wizard twisted and screamed under the horrible pain of the curse.

"See here, what will become of all your friends." Voldemort spoke, holding his wand on Poke, who was foaming at the mouth. "I will get you, Potter, even if it means going through each of your allies in turn. You have no chance against me. You will cease your pathetic attempts at harming me through our connection immediately, or I will start seeking them out."

Poke had started trembling terribly, his screams cut short since his voice was leaving him. "I'm afraid our playtime is nearly over, Harry. Mister Poke here, I'm afraid, is fated to join those dear Longbottoms at St. Mungo's, now. Nevertheless, Lord Voldemort is merciful."

"_Avada Kedavra._" Voldemort hissed harshly.

"AAAGH!" Harry shot up out of his bed, almost falling out of it entirely. With a deep breath he lowered himself back to the bed, panting.

"What was THAT?" Ron asked from his bed, clearly wide awake.

"Voldemort." Harry answered, stepping out of bed. "I need to go see Dumbledore."

Ron just nodded. "I thought that was over and done with? You said you hadn't had a nightmare like that the whole summer."

"Apparently, Voldemort didn't get the message," Harry answered, quickly drawing a robe from his trunk and donning it. "He had a ministry wizard there, was torturing him. Wanted to give me a demonstration, the sick monster."

Ron paled. "That's horrible! Should I send a letter to dad?"

"I think Dumbledore will take care of it, Ron." Harry answered, "We'll talk about this later."

* * *

"Hello, Draco." Harry said, stepping out of the shadows. "You're up late."

Draco Malfoy turned with such a speed he managed to get his robe stuck and he slammed to the ground with some force. With a grunt, he pushed himself up, gingerly rubbing his shin. "What'd you need to act like a ghost for, Potter? Go bother some Gryffindors."

"I know what you carry, Draco." Harry answered, coolly. "I know you listened to me and Severus talking, earlier."

"What do you mean, Potter?" Draco asked nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were listening in when Snape and I mentioned our continuing efforts to undermine Lord Voldemort." Harry answered. "You have in your pocket a letter addressed to your mother, detailing exactly what you heard. It would severely endanger Severus if you sent it."

"How could you possibly know that?" Draco inquired, bewildered. "Have you been spying on me?"

"Draco, I know you're not a Death Eater, nor aspire to be one."

"Who have you been talking to?" Draco asked, panicked. "Don't talk about things like this, they're going to get us both killed!"

Harry smirked knowingly. "Don't send the letter. Professor Snape is in a position to assist you, when it becomes necessary. He can offer you a way out. Endanger his position within the Death Eaters, and you will close that road entirely. You're smart, Draco, do what's right."

"How do you..." Draco began, but Harry shushed him. "It doesn't matter how I know. The fact is, I alone know, at this point. Let's keep it that way for a while longer. Do take care of yourself."

Harry walked off briskly, leaving a bewildered Draco Malfoy behind. He took the letter to his mother out of his pocket, and stared at it.

"I'm sorry, mother." Draco said, as he swiftly cast a silent _Incendio_ and watched the letter curl up into ash. "Who knew Potter was so well-informed?" he muttered under his breath, secretly impressed.

Two stairs down, he ran into Potter again.

"You're still roaming around, Potter? Shouldn't you get back to your tower? Or are you off to banter with more Slytherins?" Draco drawled.

Potter just gave him a bewildered stare, then quickly moved on, holding a hand to his forehead, as if in pain. "Sod off, Malfoy" he muttered as he moved past.

Draco shook his head, striding off towards the dungeons. Gryffindors : insane, the lot of them.

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore stated as Harry strode into the headmaster's office. "I seem to be having a particularly eventful evening. Please, sit."

Harry slumped into one of the chairs tiredly. "Voldemort's sending me dreams again," he said shortly. "It's the same as last year, with Sirius. He's intentionally sending me a message. He tortured a ministry wizard – from the department of magical animals, or along those lines – and then killed him."

Dumbledore frowned over his glasses. "And what message would Voldemort want to send you?"

"Apparently," Harry began, licking his lips. "I need to stop trying to harm him via our connection, or he'll start killing people close to me."

Dumbledore's face slackened slightly, eyebrows raised. "Really now? I believe Severus will be pleased to know that one of his hypotheses has now been confirmed. I do believe that Tom Riddle should count as an expert on the nature of mental assault, regardless of how he achieved such a status."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, mystified.

"I mean, Harry, that the visions you've been experiencing of late, are not in fact originating with Lord Voldemort – he would hardly try and threaten you into stopping what he is orchestrating. Considering your link is unique but magically relatively inert, this leaves only one option."

"Me." Harry said wonderingly, "I'm sending these visions to Voldemort through the connection, instead of the other way around?"

"This seems the best explanation, yes." Dumbledore acknowledged. "Of course, this gives us little information on the nature of these visions, save that they are not in fact originating from an attack by Lord Voldemort. I do believe that I have found another avenue of information that will help us understand the nature of your recent episodes."

A cough sounded from the other side of the room, past Fawkes' empty stand.

A tall, dark-skinned man approached, clothed in a long dark-blue flowing robe with a large cowl that was slung over his shoulders. His hair was short, spiky black and he wore two bright silver earrings in one ear. A thin silver necklace hung from his neck, ending in a small device Harry immediately recognized as a time-turner. "Good day, Mr. Potter. I am Aeron Croaker. I work for the Department of Mysteries."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement, holding out his hand. "Harry Potter, pleasure to meet you."

"It's a please to see you again, too." Croaker answered, smiling. "I'm afraid you don't remember last time, but it'll come to you with time, I'm sure. I'm here on behalf of the Custodians of the Hall of Prophecies."

"Is this about the fight again?" Harry groaned. "Luna said we'd been over that, already."

"She did, did she?" Croaker said airily. "This is not, in fact, about your previous experiences at our Department – that regrettable adventure is thankfully over – nor about the first two prophecies you have been involved with."

"There's been a new prophecy." Harry said, dread bubbling up from deep within. "Just what I needed."

Harry's insides felt like they'd turned to stone. Another bloody prophecy. As if one that said he'd have to kill Voldemort wasn't quite enough.

Croaker nodded uncertainly. "Well, yes, there's been a new prophecy, yes. There's new ones all the time. It's sort of what the Hall of Prophecies is for, you know." Croaker fumbled with his robes, then straightened again – in his hand was a small golden sphere. "I have it with me here. Of course, only a few people could possibly remove it from this gold container."

"It's about me, again." Harry asked, his stomach flip-floppping. "Was it Trelawney again?"

Croaker flustered slightly. "Um, no. You see, this is the peculiar thing. We do know the identity of the Seer – and it's a bit of a surprise, you see. We've been looking back and forth through our records, and, well, there's never been very many tactile seers, of course – last male one was in the 8th century, I think -"

"Mr. Croaker," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling slightly. "Do get to your point before this night is over."

"Well, yes." Croaker relented, looking curiously up at Harry. "The Seer, you see … was you."

Harry blinked. And again. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you can have it," Croaker said with a nervous smile. "The Custodians – they're the people that catalogue the prophecies, and stock the different Halls – found a newly formed prophecy earlier this summer, that noted it was both created for and witnessed by, well, you. Understandably things got a little confused, and Scrimgeour got his fingers in as well."

"The Minister of Magic, Harry. He's replaced Cornelius Fudge." Dumbledore clarified, though Harry knew he'd heard the name before, somewhere.

"Yes, well," Croaker continued, "It seems that the prophecy in question is an atypical type known as a tactile prophecy – that is, it is not conveyed via words but other sensations, usually visual images. The prophecy in question – this prophecy – has been causing us some problems since almost none of our researchers are able to get any information at all from it. Many feel nothing when studying the prophecy."

"I thought only the person it's about can pick it up?" Harry wondered, his mind spinning. He was a SEER of all things?

"Correct, though that is only our means of storage; before they are stored, Unspeakables with permission from the Custodians can freely research the prophecies. Any and all research, however, stays within the Department; we use an interesting spell that allows one to only remember the existence of prophecies one is studying, but not their contents, unless one is in a Hall. Quite ingenious, I believe."

"I'm a Seer." Harry finally stammered. "That wasn't exactly on my list of plausible reasons for my visions." He still couldn't believe it. "Honestly?"

"You were having visions and you didn't consider a form of clairvoyance?" Croaker asked, perplexed. "It'd be the first thing I'd think of. I wish you'd come by and have us test you for the talent."

"I do believe that is something the Ministry does not need to concern itself with." Dumbledore commented lightly. "I must remind you that Mr. Potter is a student at this school, and therefore enjoys my protection, regardless of what magical abilities he might possess."

"So, wait a minute, the visions are going to come true?" Harry asked, suddenly horrified. "That's horrible! It's bad enough when I have to deal with waking dreams!"

"It's a prophecy, of course it's going to come true." Croaker said haughtily. " The few researchers who were able to study the sensations from the prophecy concluded that the most likely cause for the sensations is an obscure Dark Arts curse – rather volatile, I understand – namely the 'Fiendblood Curse'. Apparently it turns one's blood into fiendfyre for a brief moment, generally killing the subject swiftly."

"Fiendfyre?" Harry asked, paling. "Isn't that..."

"Cursed Fire. Living flames, yes." Dumbledore answered for Croaker. "A most grievous danger indeed, should you ever be exposed to it. There are, however, several possible treatments, not the least of which is a significant dose of phoenix tears – which I expect I will be able to retrieve with considerable ease for such a purpose."

Croaker was visibly twitching, now. "Yes, well, the best thing to do about that curse is to break the connection. I don't think many wizards can do it, but if you can manage to knock out the caster in time, you'd have a pretty good chance of survival. I would suggest, considering this is in your future, you might want to invest the time to defeat it when it comes."

Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses, eyes twinkling, wandlessly casting a deafening charm at the poor Unspeakable. "I do have an interesting idea, Harry. What if it's not in fact Lord Voldemort that would curse you with this? You are well aware of the other prophecy about you, and what is capable of killing you, and what is not. What if this – prophecy – allows you to prevent what would otherwise be your death?"

"You're saying fate is giving me a bit of help on my next encounter with death since I'm already got one scheduled?" Harry asked incredulously. "I knew Ron was right, you _are_ mad!"

"Fate... or something else." Croaker commented softly, evidently unaffected by Dumbledore's charm – or a lipreader. "Mr. Potter, this wasn't all that I was here to do, tonight. I was sent to deliver this letter to you, personally. I planned on giving it to you in the morning, when I thought we'd have this conversation."

The letter was terribly familiar. It was the same type of largish envelope with the seal of the Ministry of Magic imprinted on it that he remembered from his birthday. Harry quickly opened it.

"_On behalf of the Minister of Magic , Rufus Scrimgeour, you are hereby officially invited to join the Department of Mysteries, in the position of Unspeakable, specifically : Field Agent in Training." _

It continued on, but Harry dropped the letter to the table in shock.

"So," Croaker wondered out loud. "When can we expect you?"

* * *

**Author's Note :** Well, we're finally off, with some of plot set up and going. I would advise readers not to take everything main characters say as solid fact : they can, in fact, be wrong.I apologize for the relative brevity of this chapter (though It's still a decent size, I think) though the signifiance of some of the scenes should make up for it.

I will not be labeling this Seer!Harry, even if it appears to fit. The reason for this should become clear as the plot develops.

I apologize for those who are not fond of outstanding mysteries. Although I sprinkle hints throughout to help people figure them out, some may stay mysteries for quite a few chapters.


	4. Premonition : Towards Better Things

**Chapter 4 : Towards Better Things  
**

To say that the view was magnificent would be an understatement decided Jocelyn Burbidge, long-time researcher for the Department of Mysteries. She was presently floating in orbit around Ceres, her wand twitching slightly as her quill wrote down her observations in great detail, requiring barely a gesture.

London, of course, only possessed a relatively minor Cosmos Chamber – It merely represented the Solar System – far in the distance the bright sun burned in the night sky, though its light was muted. Jocelyn didn't really use it for lighting in any case – that was what magic was for. In the gloom of the chamber, Mars was a mere crimson blur, and Earth little more than a pale blue dot.

"The object 'Ceres', formerly known as 'Ceres Ferdinandea' was discovered by muggle Cosmos-researcher Giuseppe Piazzi in 1801. Due to various reasons, doubtlessly including his lack of magic, it took arithmancer Carl Gauss to confirm his suspicions." Jocelyn said softly, as she circled the light brown sphere.

"Twisting the truth again, Jocelyn?" came an amused voice from somewhere beyond Jupiter. "I'd have thought you of all people would've researched these people in more depth. Piazzi is an old Italian wizarding family – Giuseppe was, in fact, a Squib, alienated from his family. As for Gauss – I'm sure you merely forget that he was a mathematician, not an arithmancer. A muggle, to be precise."

"Get out of here, Lassell." Jocelyn answered with some venom. "You know as well as I do that this tiny excuse for a planetoid has had at least a dozen extensive reports already. I've read them – all of them are hopelessly apologetic about the inabilities of muggles. I hardly think a little balance could hurt."

With an elegant movement William Lassell floated into view, smiling broadly. "Oh, Jocelyn. Only you would think anti-muggle propaganda brings balance."

"What are you doing here? I've still got hours of work to do working on this pointless report. After which I'll doubtlessly be assigned to researching Uranus and being joked about for a full week."

"Actually, this is a bit of a social call," William answered apologetically. "You've not been at any of our usual meet-ups, and I sort of missed you."

"Grow up, Lassell." Jocelyn growled. "We've not been at any of our usual meet-ups since you decided it'd be a good idea to bring two women you met late at night into your bedroom. The bedroom you share with me, if you recall."

"That was a misunderstanding," William scoffed, as he ducked out of the way of several asteroids zooming by. "How was I supposed to know that working in the Cosmos Chamber left your more vulnerable to alcohol than usual?"

"You might've read the manual we got on our first day here," she said dryly. "That, or listened to any of your colleagues. Including myself. You've got nobody else to blame but your stupid self."

"Can't we work this out?" William asked after a moment, moving his legs slightly to get himself closer to Ceres, and Jocelyn. "We got over that spat we had regarding Pluto, didn't we?"

Jocelyn sneered. "That was work-related. I don't mix business and pleasure, as you well know."

William shrugged lightly, bouncing a few slow-moving asteroids back into their belt.

"Fair enough. Five minutes, though? Then I'll promise you to leave to your … important … work."

Jocelyn perched herself carefully on top of Ceres. "Since you've been outside this place, tell me what's going on in the other departments – maybe I'll let you stay a bit longer."

William smiled congenially, quickly brandishing his wand. "_Accio Vesta._"

"Honestly, William? Just remember that we have to put them back when we're done. You know some people around here will have a fit."

It took mere moments before a vaguely rounded asteroid came hurtling out of the darkness, slowly revolving. Vesta, roughly half as wide as Ceres, settled into a slow orbit around the latter – William quickly mimicked Jocelyn's position on top of it.

"If you're done badly imitating me, get to business." Jocelyn said, smirking. "What's the news?"

"A guy from Temporal is visiting." William began, "No idea what he's waiting for, but I hear it has something to do with the old storage lockers below the Hall of Prophecy. Best I can figure that's where something is going to happen, and he's here to observe."

"Temporal." Jocelyn mused. "I've not had any experience with them myself, but my sister did – of course, they obliviated her of the experience. She's lost a full year on that."

"I think they're lying to us about Temporal," William said, shrugging. "The higher-ups, that is. I suspect that they've broken the time-turner limit long ago and are just keeping it silent."

"What would be the point?" Jocelyn said dejectedly. "Unless they've figured out a way to change the universe, they can't actually change history one bit."

"I suppose," William admitted. "Well, that's the big news, in any case – it's rare enough that one of them shows up around here. Most of them are hauled up in Site 17, no doubt."

"Site 17 doesn't exist any more." Jocelyn retorted, resettling herself, flattening Ceres' surface. "It was already being evacuated when mum was still on the job, it's been ages."

"You do take all this propaganda seriously, don't you?" William said in wonder. "I highly doubt that the Departments of Mysteries of all the magical nations in the world were incapable of saving their own base of operations. It's unthinkable. I think Site 17 is still in use."

"For what?" scoffed Jocelyn. "Ever since the break-up, none of the Departments have been all too glad to team up with any of the others. There's no international organization left to use it, even if still existed."

"Don't you think that the reason for the break-up has never been explained? By anyone? I believe it's a huge cover-up. The Unspeakables went into hiding and all they'll show to the world at large is the perfectly allowed things, while everything that needs to be kept secret is trucked off to a secret base. Site 17, hidden from prying eyes."

"Interesting theories, William," Jocelyn said with an odd look on her face. "What makes you think that this," she waved around absentmindedly, "All of this is a ruse?"

"Just think," William stated, getting riled up. "The Minister never even comes down here – if he ever has a meeting with Unspeakables, it's in an undisclosed location. The higher-ups don't actually have any offices anywhere in the building, but I've seen them walk into this very department numerous times, only to vanish. I believe that this is merely a front for the REAL Department."

"And to think I thought you were harmless." Jocelyn stated with an air of disinterest, as she raised her wand. "You've been quite an observant one, haven't you? _Obliviate_."

"W-What?" William managed to stutter.

"We talked about department news, and we agreed to stop avoiding each other. Whenever you have the urge to disclose your theories about the Department of Mysteries, you'll think of me as a trustworthy person to tell." Jocelyn intoned sadly. "I'm sorry, William."

"I'm sorry as well," William said after a moment with a glazed look in his eyes. "I'll see you next Thursday, then." he floated off haphazardly, still recovering from his obliviation, even if he didn't realize it.

Vesta continued to circle Ceres silently, as Jocelyn stretched. This, she realized, was what she hated the most about her job. She couldn't really confide in people – if anyone came to suspect, they'd be made to forget.

Jocelyn sighed, as she stood up from her asteroid, casually repairing its surface. "It's hard, keeping these secrets." she said. "More people will start to get questions if we actually go forward with recruiting teenagers." She turned towards the sun. "You can come out."

"I know events are spiralling out of control." A dark shape said, as he emerged from the direction of Earth. "I caught most of your conversation, there. More will come to similar conclusions. It's bad enough that we have a handful of people in the know that we don't control, we don't want to have any that we don't know about at all. We might have to change long-established habits to increase security."

"It's so tiring, you know." Jocelyn answered. "I can't even tell my family about the Site. I shudder to think what will happen if we make the department any more mysterious? This Department's name is starting to be a bit too literal. You know what it's like, you've been undercover for years. It must eat at you, not being able to share."

"I talked to Arnold the other day, and he's talking about the likes of Alastor Moody beginning to suspect." the dark shape commented. "That, of course, isn't too much of a problem – he's rather understanding of our need for secrecy – but it's worrying. Personally, I keep my professional life quite separate from my personal life – that way I won't feel so bad about not talking about my work."

"Mad-Eye is too smart for his own good. It's a wonder he's not been recruited straight after he left the Aurors."

"He's occasionally approached for advice, and it seems he might be more closely linked to us, soon." the man answered. "In any case, we'll have to do -something. With the high-profile recruit that might be joining any day now, quite a few journalist eyes will be fixed firmly on us."

"Potter." Jocelyn said angrily. "He's, what, fifteen? He'll be one of the youngest recruits we've ever had, and all the others were veritable geniuses. I think the Minister is far too fond of the publicity he'll get from this, and is letting it cloud his senses. Then there's all those testimonials and claimed achievements – honestly most of those are completely laughable. Slaying an adult Basilisk at age twelve?"

"You know that our recruitment procedure is not due to chance," the shrouded shape said as he finally alighted his wand, illuminating his face. "He's been in our books since 1898, it's hardly a new discovery. Besides, I was among the investigators of the Chamber of Secrets, and that serpent was quite real."

"I don't believe a word of it," Jocelyn jeered. "I know you enjoy playing the devil's advocate, Royden. What do you really think?"

"I don't believe I will share that with you." the man said, grinning slightly. "We'll see what happens, won't we?" He floated away serenely, tugging Vesta along, back to its orbit. "See you around, J."

* * *

"You're serious?" Harry said, blinking rapidly. Several portraits around the room carefully looked through their eyelids at the conversation, but found that they were unable to follow it – Dumbledore had spelled them blind and deaf.

"Quite." Croaker replied, picking up the letter. "You'll find that the Minister himself is responsible for this invite – there is nobody in this country that can prevent you from joining our Department." He glanced up at Dumbledore while saying that. "It's entirely your choice."

Dumbledore, for his part, was plainly surprised by the letter. "My goodness, an invitation to the Department of Mysteries? I was not aware you enlisted schoolchildren."

"I'm not a child." Harry said casually, as he took the letter back from Croaker. "I think I'll need to research this. I don't know much of anything about the Department of Mysteries. Don't I need to finish school first?"

"You'd finish your NEWTs in due time, there are arrangements for it." Croaker commented quickly.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, worriedly. "Are you certain you are willing to consider this offer? It may very well be a way for the Minister to gain control over your actions, as it would remove you from my influence."

Harry glanced up apologetically, sinking into his chair. "I hadn't thought of that." he admitted, reading over the first lines of the letter again. "Moody knew something about this though, and he didn't seem to think it too worrying."

"Really?" Dumbledore responded, surprised. "I wonder why he didn't inform me?"

"You'll find that there are rules about that sort of thing." Croaker interrupted. "Mr. Moody serves as an advisor to the Department of Mysteries since early in his career. He's trusted to keep our secrets from anyone not allowed to know them."

"Can he get into trouble for talking to me?" Harry asked fearfully, thinking of the summer.

Croaker smiled slightly, tapping the letter in Harry's hand. "I have a feeling he won't."

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was frowning over his glasses. "What can you tell us of Harry's activities, were he to join the Ministry of Magic?"

"Not very much, I'm afraid," Croaker said, sighing. "However, if you were to take an Unbreakable Vow, you may receive a similar status to Mr. Moody – I was informed by my superiors that it might be necessary."

"Harry has quite a few friends at this school," Dumbledore said, "I would require promises of similar agreements with them, so as to allow him to maintain his relationships. I will not allow Mr. Potter to be cut off from his life."

"Of course," Croaker nodded, taking a letter from his robe. "I'm afraid I can only allow similar to access to five students – those who we are already familiar with. Those who joined you in your exploration of our Department, in fact." The Unspeakable smiled slightly, tossing the letter on Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore still looked worried, but seemed to have calmed down somewhat. "You clearly have prepared for this meeting, Mr. Croaker. Is there any specific reason that the Ministry, and specifically the Department of Mysteries, wishes to acquire Mr. Potter's services?"

"There are several." Croaker admitted. "Notable ones include his apparent ability to See, his remarkable record in the area of practical defence against the Dark Arts, and a recommendation from our Minister. There are several others, but I'm afraid that they are confidential."

"My remarkable record in Defence?" Harry questioned, rejoining the discussion. "I'm pretty high in my class, but I hardly think I'm so good the Ministry would notice."

"Mr. Potter," Croaker said, smiling slightly. "Your humility is commendable, but you should take some pride in your accomplishments. There's not many wizards of any age that have battled a Basilisk – and fewer that have survived. None of them were twelve years old at the time. There are fewer yet that have faced the Dark Lord multiple times, and lived to tell the tale. Of course, we're ignoring the fact that you successfully won a tournament meant for students several years your senior, and that you successfully fought of several Death Eaters in my very Department."

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, Harry noticed. He'd seen that look before – back in first year, shortly after he woke up in the infirmary. Was that pride?

"I was not aware the Ministry was quite so aware of Mr. Potter's activities." Dumbledore said softly. "Yet this information was not described in the papers, despite the fact that the former Minister could have gained considerable publicity with it. How much control does the Minister have on your Department, Mr. Croaker?"

Croaker coughed, looking away. "The Minister does not have as much control on our Department as he believes. To expound on that topic would be unwise until you have sworn a vow."

Dumbledore nodded, as he looked at Harry. "I believe that you and your friends should discuss this topic in the near future – don't be too hasty in your acceptance or denial."

"You'd allow me to go?" Harry said, somewhat perplexed. "Not that I've decided, but it seems you'd be opposed to me leaving Hogwarts to join the Ministry, considering," He looked sideways at Croaker, "The prophecy, that is."

"I wouldn't dare steal your choices from you, Harry." Dumbledore answered regally. "The invitation was for you alone, and therefore I'll let you consider it. Should you accept and rethink your choice at a later time, the gates of Hogwarts will always be open."

Harry nodded silently, regarding the Headmaster with considerable respect. "Thank you, sir. It's good to know you trust me this much."

Dumbledore chuckled, glancing at Croaker. "I would trust you with my life, dear boy. Now, you'd better get to bed, and make sure you arrange a meeting with your friends. No doubt Mrs. Granger will supply you with the necessary information to make your decision, and you may discuss it at length with all of them."

"Although I predict no problems, I would ask you to swear an Unbreakable Vow to keep your secrets shortly, if you decide to accept. You do not know enough to spread around at this time for me to threaten obliviation, but I would request you be somewhat careful with who hears of your invitation. The same can be said about your Seeing ability." Croaker added. "I will allow the five of them to swear the Vow with Headmaster Dumbledore, a person they doubtlessly respect more than myself."

"I'll be really careful," Harry said quickly, somewhat worried Malfoy would find out, or any of the other people in contact with Death Eaters. "Will Voldemort find out about this?"

If Croaker was unnerved by the name, he didn't show it. "Should you accept, there will likely be a report on your recruitment into the Unspeakables in short order. The media will likely cover it for some time as well."

"Can't we just keep it silent?" Harry pleaded, thinking of Rita Skeeter and that infernal pen.

"I'm afraid that your disappearance from Hogwarts would be discouraging to the public at large, due to your considerable influence in the present conflict with Lord Voldemort. Morale is important, and we will not be responsible for destroying it in the favour of secrecy. Besides that, we are quite certain there remain several informants within the Ministry of Magic that report to Voldemort – you'd need to go around entirely shrouded in a cloak at all times to preserve your identity, which will raise eyebrows as well."

Harry nodded slightly, trying to summon up bravery. He thought back to his early summer, and his poetry book, through which he had resolved to justify himself. "Death shall have no dominion," he whispered below his breath, smirking as he considered again that he should leave these thoughts to better people. Finally, he looked up. "What else do I need to know?"

Dumbledore seemed surprised at Harry's acquiescence, but didn't mention it. "You should meet with Professor Snape, and mention your apparent ability to See. I'm quite convinced he will be of help to understanding this new ability of yours."

Harry stood up, grumbling. "I still don't believe I'm a bloody Seer." Dumbledore nor Croaker said anything as Harry walked to the door. "I'll let you know what I'll do as soon as I can."

"Take this," Dumbledore said, pointing to the invitation letter that remained on his desk.

Harry waved his hand slightly, concentrating on the words. "Accio Letter," he whispered, and it jumped up and flew into his hand. "Almost forget. Goodnight, Headmaster, Mr. Croaker."

He didn't notice Croaker's gasp, or Dumbledore's amused chuckle.

"Wandless summoning!" Harry heard vaguely from the headmaster's office, and he smirked as he strode down the spiral staircase.

* * *

"You're kidding." Hermione said, eyes wide. "Do you know what a chance that is? The Unspeakables have the largest known collection of rare magical books and records-"

Harry regarded Hermione with some amusement, as he leaned into his chair in the Gryffindor common room, currently containing half a dozen students. "Yes, Hermione." Harry answered, holding her at arm's length. "I'm aware that they're a secretive bunch with a lot of secret magic. It's clear you already decided what I should do."

Hermione calmed, but she remained unmistakably excited at the prospect. "Harry, if I were given this choice, I'd go for it immediately. Although nobody really knows what the Unspeakables do, what IS known is that they work with the rarest and strangest of magic, and have a great amount of magical information that is completely forbidden for most wizards and witches."

"Which is what I just said," Harry said, tiredly. "Secret magic. I know it's your particular interest, but I'm not as studious as you are."

"I don't know, Harry," Ron said, as he finished the letter. "Dad's always talked about how weird Unspeakables are, and how that whole Department seems to be about hiding away anything they can from common wizards and witches."

"Dad's not particularly objective on it, though," Ginny added. "I mean, he's never been too fond of Ministry regulations, despite working for them. Remember the car?"

Harry had gathered his five closest friends together the morning after his midnight chat with Dumbledore and the Unspeakable Croaker, and they'd all reacted with various shades of shock. Surprisingly, Harry noted, none of them seemed particularly worried about the Unspeakables or the Ministry's possible ulterior motives. Luna, in fact, showed absolutely no surprise at all – Neville, on the other hand, seemed positively elated.

"I think it's right that they'd ask Harry," Neville said confidently. "My granddad joined the Unspeakables, but he left them when he got married. Gran told me all sorts of stories about how wonderful he thought it was. I think that was before all the obliviators got involved, though."

Ginny, absently looking out over the lake, turned, watching Neville carefully. "Do you think your Gran could help Harry choose?"

"Oh, I know she'd be all for it," Neville admitted. "She's really proud of him and my parents, and she's trying to get me to follow their footsteps all the time. Remember how she reacted to our fight at the Ministry?"

"Would you be away from Hogwarts all the time?" Ron asked. "I mean, wouldn't you be missing out on the NEWTs?"

"The Unspeakable said I would be finishing those anyway," Harry said, "Dumbledore will also allow me back here if it were really necessary." He sighed and pulled a hand through his hair, regarding his friends calmly. "I think that's beside the point, though."

"What are the best reasons you shouldn't do this?" Ginny said, glacing at Luna who was merely looking on with a smug grin. "I mean, plenty of reasons to be excited about it, I'm sure. There's got to be downsides."

"The Ministry might be trying to get me to play its tune," Harry began. "Dumbledore seemed to think it was likely, though I think he was convinced otherwise, I'm not sure. He seemed rather less worried as time went on. There's a new Minister, so I can't be sure he's like Fudge."

"If you make sure your contract allows you to leave whenever you want, that shouldn't be a problem," Hermione commented. "The Ministry can only have you do so much before you would notice, and you would be able to quite noisily make your exit. That would even work with the likes of former Minister Fudge, given how much he feared bad press."

"Yes, Harry!" Ginny enthused. "You could probably put an interview in the paper and get the Minister sacked. It worked on the last one, after all."

"I beg your pardon?" Harry asked, looking at Ginny. "I'm pretty sure that Voldemort's return got Fudge out of office, not any of my interviews. Which I didn't like to do, by the way." Ron and Neville cringed at the name, though the girls didn't seem to mind.

Ron patted him on the back with a patronising smile, though it held no malice. "We all know that if it weren't for you publicly announcing V-V-You-Know-Who's return, Fudge would still be in office and my dad would probable be out of a job."

"Did you hear," Ginny said suddenly, excited. "Dad might be getting a promotion! I think it's because the Minister knows that he's part of the Order. I heard that the new Minister is very much against Voldemort, and he respects Dumbledore."

"The new Minister is a reasonable chap, then." Harry said wonderingly. "Considering the Ministry personnel I've met thus far, it hasn't exactly made a great impression. I wonder if he's simply trying to get the Order to work for him through controlling me?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour is a good man," Neville said, "I've met him a few times, when I went out with my Gran. He was Head of the Aurors for a while, and he's supposed to be ruthless and completely opposed to dark magic. I don't think it's likely that he'd go that far."

"Though he used to use Dark Arts a lot," Hermione said, leading to several stares. "It's in his autobiography. Early in his career he was tried a few times for use of dark magic, but he was never convicted."

"Why am I not surprised you read it," Harry replied wryly. "So, Hermione, anything in particular I should be worried about? Is this Department of Mysteries dangerous?"

"I'm sure," Hermione said, nodding. "I mean, there's been disappearances. Studying ancient magic and tracking down rare artefacts can't be too simple. It's bound to be full of trouble. Of course, the same can be said for Hogwarts. Our time here hasn't been the most uneventful."

"You can say that again," Ron responded, chuckling wryly. "Between giant chess sets, evil teachers and Dark Lords, we've had our work cut out for us."

"I think you should talk to Professor Snape." Luna interjected suddenly. "I'm sure he can help."

"Snape?" Ron spat harshly. "That excuse for a professor should stay well away from Harry. You don't know what he did last year, do you? I wouldn't trust him with a knut."

Harry hushed Ron with a calming gesture, smiling slightly. "Professor Snape, though undoubtedly a git of considerable proportions, has been quite civil this year. He's offered his apologies for his actions last year, and I provisionally accept that."

"Snape apologized?" Ginny said disbelievingly, as Neville blanched.

"Dumbledore asked him to." Harry said simply. "If he can remain relatively calm, then I can do the same. At least he's helping me with Occlumency, now. Properly. Detesting him isn't really a good reason to risk all of you."

"Occlumency?" Neville wondered aloud, but Ginny talked over him. "So you've got a truce with Snape because Dumbledore said so? This can't possibly last."

"It won't." Harry admitted. He'd known the peace with Snape was at best temporary since Dumbledore even proposed it. "I will, however, not be the one to break the stalemate. When he does, it will be strictly on his shoulders to mend that."

"At least you won't see him too much either, if you're out of the school," Neville said nervously. "You've got to see the bright side. I bet you could find some teacher in the Mind Arts at the Ministry, though I didn't know you were interested in that."

"I'd miss all of you, a lot." Harry said sadly. "I'd probably see you quite often, but it wouldn't be like now. As for Occlumency, Neville – Voldemort's a rather powerful Legilimens, so it's rather necessary."

"At least we'd know a bit of what you're up to," said Hermione, as Neville paled considerably. "I mean, nobody else would know anything more than where you are."

"Maybe we should all consider learning Occlumency," Neville said nervously. "At least you'd be well out of the way of Voldemort, Harry. The Department of Mysteries must surely be better protected than Hogwarts now, after our break-in."

"I'd still be elsewhere, though." Harry said, sadly. "I really don't like the idea of that."

"We would keep in contact," Ginny responded. "Besides, you'd have to come over for the holidays, and I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore would allow you into the school whenever you want."

"You guys really want me to go, do you?" Harry said with an amused grin. "Who knew you would so gladly be rid of me."

"Don't be silly, Harry." Ginny said flatly. "We already agreed we'd make an Unbreakable Vow, I think we can safely agree that it means we'll not leave you alone."

"Don't worry, Harry, you'll see us often enough." Luna said, smiling enigmatically. "I'll be there too, sometimes."

"I'm sure, Luna." Harry said, confused. "You seem quite convinced I'll accept."

"I know you will," she simply answered, shrugging.

"You're not a Seer, are you?" Harry asked suspiciously. Harry had made sure to keep his alleged Seer abilities a secret – he didn't believe it himself, yet. It was still such an alien concept, he had trouble even thinking of Seers as anything other than Trelawney-clones.

"No, I'm not a Seer." Luna answered frankly. "You are, though."

Nobody seemed quite surprised at Luna's comments, ignoring them as the usual obscure nonsense, though Harry got a chill.

"Sorry I can't really help choosing," Ron said, though he seemed distracted. "You never do get to be normal, do you?"

"I guess I don't." Harry admitted. "I'm having a hard enough time getting to grips with this whole Ministry interest thing as it is. Dumbledore seems convinced I'm a powerful wizard too. I envy you."

"You envy me?" Ron said, baffled. "You're a world-famous rich powerhouse of a wizard, and you envy me? Whatever for?"

"Many things, Ron," Harry answered. "Having a loving family. Doing what you love, not what you need to do."

Ron didn't answer, though he coloured somewhat; Ginny smiled victoriously, as if Harry had said exactly what she wanted.

The six of them ultimately ended up talking over the letter for close to an hour, before they needed to get ready for class. Nobody seemed particularly surprised to see Luna with the Gryffindors, thankfully.

* * *

"_Deprimo_!"

With a loud snap, the Death Eater's leg snapped, crushed into the pavement. With an anguished cry he lashed out with his wand, his hand trembling. "_Expulso_!"

Moody launched himself sidewards, narrowly avoiding the point-blank explosive curse that detonated loudly against the wall behind him, showering debris down the street. With a curse and a twist he smacked his fist firmly into the Death Eater's nose, knocking him out cold.

Four more Death Eaters appeared around the corner of the next lane, wands ready. Moody, meanwhile, ensconced himself behind a wall, though he'd been noticed. "Bastards are everywhere," he muttered, wondering where the others were.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" four voices cried around the corner, blasting into the corner with paint and bricks flying everywhere. Merely to show off, Moody suspected. "Come out, Mad-Eye."

Moody, mentally preparing for a heavily outmatched duel, took a glance around the corner. All four Death Eaters had placed themselves behind solid objects, and were not in reach of any of the more conventional spells. Time to improvise.

"If you come a step closer I'll blast yer legs off." Moody cursed, silently conjuring a marble sphere, two inches across. "Maybe I'll hit your head instead and save Azkaban some time." With a flourish he added an Expulso enchantment to the stone. Ten seconds ought to be enough. "Come and get me."

The moment four more voices cried out, Moody tapped the sphere and threw it around the corner. It rolled innocently forward, and for a moment the Death Eaters didn't notice.

"Duck!" One suddenly cried out, but it was too late. With a massive detonation three of the wizards were blasted out of their hiding places, landing roughly, dazed. With his wand expertly aimed, Moody nimbly jumped from his hiding place, any limping forgotten. " _Lacarnum Inflamarae_!" he cried.

None of the three bruised Death Eaters had the presence of mind to avoid the monstrous ball of fire that splashed into the ground between them, the inferno blasting outwards with long tongues of flame. Their cries were brief.

"You'll pay for that, Mad-Eye!" The fourth Death Eater cried, hidden behind an upturned car further down the street.

"You'll have to get me first," Moody returned, growling. "Come and try."

The Death Eater, however, swiftly vanished with a pop, leaving Moody once again alone in the street. With a discontented sigh Moody limped towards the centre of town, where he could still hear a commotion. Clearly, the anti-disapparition jinxes had failed, which probably meant one or more powerful Death Eaters were at the raid – he'd simply missed the opportunity to take them on.

Moody nonchalantly identified two of the three Death Eaters he'd just killed in battle – two recent recruits, he suspected, most probably from Eastern Europe judging by the fur-lined cloaks they were wearing. The third, unfortunately, no longer had a face.

The attack, poorly executed as it was, was at least the tenth this month and Moody was getting worried. There was no real reason for the attacks – the targets were Muggle villages, and most of the time the Death Eaters fled without even getting any killing or torture done. For Moody this could only be one thing : tests.

The Death Eaters were intentionally testing out the capabilities of the Order and the Ministry, and getting new recruits used to combat. There were always a few strong wizards or witches along, though they didn't show themselves – they were merely there to arrange an exit for the amateurs. It was pathetic, really. The problem was – if this kept up, Voldemort would know what his enemies were capable of. There would be no more surprises – and then the real attacks would begin.

"Dumbledore, where do I need to be?" Moody growled, aiming his Patronus at the centre of town. It took mere moments for a reply to come. "I'm told that there's only a handful left – most are disapparating. I haven't heard of any casualties."

"Three to report, got caught alone against a four-man team." Moody sent back, speeding up. The response, this time, was swift.

"Where is your team?" The phoenix crooned.

"I sent 'em all to St. Mungo's. They'll be fine." Moody responded again, frowning at the method of communication. He wished it was less visible – the silvery flashes were unmistakable.

Dumbledore finally came into view, supporting a visibly exhausted Elphias Doge. Moody quickly stalked over. "How many did you face?"

"There were only a few here," Dumbledore said, frowning. "Someone took down the apparition jinx I placed – a powerful wizard or witch, I'm sure. We met none that were powerful enough, ourselves. The others have already headed back home."

"No powerful wizards on my end, I think." Moody returned. "None of them were familiar."

Dumbledore didn't comment, but silently disapparated with barely a sound, taking Doge, who was still quite out of it. Moody followed seconds later, grimacing.

"A recruit mission." Dumbledore concluded, as he followed Moody into Grimmauld Place. "Clearly Lord Voldemort is hard at work increasing his ranks."

Moody nodded, though he seemed somewhat more energetic than usual, after his recent battle. "I'm betting things will only be more difficult for us. We might want to consider getting some more people ourselves."

"I have high hopes for our new Minister." Dumbledore said, twinkling over his glasses. "I believe me might also have more allies, in time, via one of our mutual acquaintances."

"Don't expect the Unspeakables to join the Order," Moody said offhandedly. "They probably won't."

"You never did tell me about the Ministry's interest in Harry." Dumbledore said, suspiciously. "You caught onto that awfully fast. Are you sure you couldn't have found any way to warn me about all of this?"

"Honestly, I was hoping to see the look on your face." Moody answered, snorting. "I figured it'd come up eventually anyway, and if it didn't happen, I didn't make a fool of myself."

"Just remember that Harry is rather important to the Order. If you have important news, make sure to inform us that something is going on, at least."

"Fair enough." Moody said mildly. "Best keep most of this under wraps for now. Harry joining the Ministry will be shock enough when it's in the papers."

"You are that convinced he will say yes?" Dumbledore wondered.

"Haven't met a man that spurned the Unspeakables yet." Moody said, smirking wryly. "And Potter's got the potential, I believe, to be great there."

* * *

"You're a Seer." Snape said flatly. "You've been invited to join the Unspeakables, as well. How it must stroke your ego."

"It's all rather a surprise." Harry responded nervously, eyeing Snape, who sneered.

"Perhaps the Headmaster will elect to replace Sybill, now," Snape said, scowling. "No doubt she'll be overjoyed to have another like her in the castle."

"I'm not Trelawney!" Harry answered, shaking his head. "I don't want to be a Seer, but I can't really help it, can I?"

"Why do you feel the need to tell me?" Snape said harshly. "You seem to think I care. Surely you won't mind the fame your appointment in the Ministry may bring you?"

"Dumbledore thought you'd find the Seeing discovery might be helpful for the visions." Harry said, frowning. "I reckon it's a Seer vision or whatever for something that's yet to happen to me. The Unspeakable argued that it was the Fiendblood curse."

Snape hissed, "Fiendblood? That's very dark magic. Lethal. The Dark Lord refrains from using it since despite its versatility as torture, it's rather fond of killing the victim if insufficient control is applied."

"So he said," Harry admitted. "The Unspeakable figured if I could break the connection from the curse, I could survive."

Snape nodded, but didn't answer, glancing sideways at the door. "Sufficiently practised Occlumency should allow you to block out pain, much like you did with your visions. You should be careful however – self-inflicted mental wounds are practically undetectable and take a long time to heal. Blocking your own pain for extended periods would be an effective way to rip you mind to shreds."

Harry nodded gravely, staring at Snape, who was seated behind his desk and rifling through a small stack of notes on what appeared to be pyromancy. "Any progress?"

"You may not realize it, Potter, but I've other duties than to obsess over your summer adventures." Snape growled. "Besides that, most of my research is now pointless."

Harry didn't respond, and Snape sniffed. Finally, Snape spoke up again, seemingly calm. "What did you say to Draco Malfoy?"

Harry blinked at the sudden change of topic, and swallowed. "What do you mean, what did I tell Malfoy? I don't make a habit of talking to him if I don't have to."

"You clearly told him something – he came to visit me. Told me you convinced him that I could help him. Surprisingly insightful of you. I'd figured you were far too caught up in your childish whims to consider other people." Snape leaned back, clasping his hands together on his desk.

Harry didn't answer, thinking back to his last meeting with Malfoy. Really, he'd barely said a word or two. In fact, he didn't remember saying anything to him at all for weeks. Weird. Perhaps Malfoy had merely used his name because it was rather obvious on which side of the conflict he was?

"Suffice to say, the problem is under control." Snape said, sneering.

Harry decided he really needed to have a talk with Malfoy. "Don't we have more important things to talk about?"

"Hold your tongue, Potter." Snape sneered, as he glanced towards the door. "Your Occlumency is still abominable, concentrate on that. You will not speak for the next hour."

"Yes, sir" Harry answered meekly, as he walked to the centre of the room, preparing for yet another painful session in which Snape tried to invade his mind. Thankfully it had been some time since Snape had managed to glimpse more than a few memories.

Ron waited for Harry outside the door as he finally stumbled out of Snape's domain and trudged back to Gryffindor tower. The castle itself was rather remarkably silent at this time of night, bar a few stray students here and there. Curfew was coming up.

"I still can't believe you willingly go to that creep." Ron muttered softly, frowning. "You can barely stand upright, that can't be healthy."

"Don't worry about it, Ron." Harry responded, sighing. "He didn't really say anything particularly nasty, though, so don't worry about it. He barely had a word to spare about the Ministry either."

"You asked him?" Ron inquired, mystified. "You're braver than I am, mate."

"I doubt that." Harry said grinning. "Remember the chess game in first year? I don't know if I could've done that. Sacrificing yourself..."

They chatted amiably all the way, Ron detailing a particularly amusing incident that had happened at Headquarters over summer, while Harry bounced his ideas off Ron. Hermione didn't seem surprised to see them arrive mere minutes before curfew.

"You should be more careful about the time!" She chided, as the two walked in. "None of us are prefects, we can't be in the halls after curfew."

"Don't worry about it, 'Mione" Ron said, earning himself a slap.

"Don't call me that, Ronald." She said imperiously. "Harry, how was Occlumency?"

"Bearable," Harry responded, shrugging. "Honestly after Moody's help over summer it's going a lot better. It's great that I have some idea of what I should be doing. It's not like the git would ever go into the theory."

"Where's Ginny?" Ron asked, plopping down in one of the soft common room chairs.

"She's up in the dormitories, I think." Hermione said. "She went to speak to Luna earlier, and she returned less than half an hour ago."

"Luna and Ginny?" Harry mused. "Didn't think they spent too much time together. Maybe she's trying to get to know her, given that she's sort of part of the group."

"She did say she was sort of sorry she barely knew her, when you considered her one of you closest friends," Hermione responded, nodding. "I mean, she sees us Gryffindors all the time."

"I barely know her either," Ron said, shrugging. "Always thought she's a bit loopy. Which she is, honestly. She's nice, if a little creepy."

"I know what you mean," Harry responded, as he trudged towards the stairs. "I'm going to think for a bit on this whole Ministry thing. Maybe talk to Remus a bit."

It didn't take Harry long to fetch the small square mirror from his trunk. It had been a gift from Sirius, and Harry had smashed it quite well at the end of last year. Remus had noticed it and fixed it at the end of the summer, and Sirius' from Mundungus Fletcher, who had 'recovered' it from Headquarters.

"Remus Lupin." Harry said clearly. The mirror wasn't completely intact – a few chips were missing – but the Protean enchantment was quite intact. After a few moments, a haggard face appeared in the mirror.

"Harry!" Remus said, smiling broadly. "I tried contacting you earlier, but I guess you were out."

"Snape." Harry said, shrugging.

"I'm sorry." Remus responded with a smile. "I wanted to contact you about this afternoon – there was a small attack, and a few Order members were wounded. None that you're familiar with, I believe. Moody sends his regards. He said to tell you that your relatives' books on muggle technology turned out to be useful."

"Good to know," Harry answered with a small smile.

"So, what can I do for you today?" Remus said seriously.

"I need your advice, Remus," Harry responded, frowning. "I'm not sure if Dumbledore mentioned anything yet, but I got a rather interesting invitation."

"Ah, yes. The Ministry," Remus responded tightly. "I don't trust Scrimgeour – him inviting you to work for the Ministry seems like a publicity stunt."

"You'd think he'd invite me for the Aurors, though," Harry said with a frown. "He knows quite well that's what my preference is, considering the OWLs."

Remus looked out of the mirror oddly, then shook his head. "Actually, I sort of thought you were invited to the Aurors."

"It's an invite to the Department of Mysteries," Harry admitted. "I'm sure Dumbledore didn't want that to be known to every one just yet, given that I might decline."

Remus looked stunned. "Scrimgeour invited you to the _Unspeakables_? That seems like an awful lot of risk on his part just for some publicity. You being there might well force that Department to actively oppose Voldemort. I didn't think he'd dare such a thing..."

"So is it a good thing or a bad thing?" Harry asked, confused. "It seems genuine enough."

"It would be rather a good thing for the fight against Voldemort,"Remus answered. "Some of the best wizards and witches in the country are Unspeakables – of course, their identities tend to be concealed. If they were forced to counteract Voldemort, we'd have a powerful new ally. The problem is, I believe, that this would be rather politically detrimental for the Minister."

"How?" Harry wondered. "I hardly think that the Ministry opposing Voldemort is a bad thing."

"It's political, Harry," Remus said with a grimace. "Basically, the Department of Mysteries tends to stay out of conflicts like these, because they're more autonomous than most Departments. The Minister doesn't have nearly as much control. The Ministry of course prefers to downplay this – but the realization that a significant portion of the Ministry's more or less a separate government tends to play out very badly for the Minister in power."

"They'd think he was weak and incapable of controlling his own employees," Harry concluded. "Unspeakables would get involved in everything, and the Ministry wouldn't have any way to forbid it."

Remus nodded. "Which make this invitation quite unique – either the Minister is convinced he can contain the potential damage you could do to the neutral stance of the Unspeakables, or he's some other plan that we don't have any knowledge of."

"Neither of those are comforting," Harry responded, stretching himself out on his bed and holding the mirror close. "How likely is that the Unspeakables themselves are pressuring the Minister into inviting me? Croaker seemed to be quite happy about the invitation, and he implied that the Minister doesn't have too much reach in the Department of Mysteries. What about the other way around?"

Remus considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know enough about them to know what the Unspeakables could want with you, if that were the case."

"There is the Seer thing," Harry said, thinking aloud. "It was the first thing Croaker mentioned."

"What 'Seer thing' ?" Remus inquired – Harry sat up straight at that.

"Dumbledore really didn't say much, did he? Huh. What I was talking about is the fact that the Department of Mysteries believes I'm a Seer."

Remus stared, perplexed. "You, a Seer? Where would you have inherited it from? The Potters certainly didn't have any potential for premonition."

Harry grimaced, thinking back on the visions. "It's some kind of weird touchy-feely kind of Seeing, too. You remember about this summer's painful visions from Voldemort – well, turns out they're not actually from Voldemort – they're from me. I've been having premonitions of what might well turn out to be my own death." Until he said it, Harry hadn't really concluded that much, but he found he couldn't disagree. Perhaps the odd feeling of detachment was his own death?

Remus gasped, horrified. "That horrible feeling of fire? A prediction?"

"Snape's been helping me with Occlumency, and I can block out the visions now. He reckons I could use the same technique to beat the feeling should it happen in reality. It would give me a fighting chance, at least."

Remus, looking quite sick, swallowed deeply before he continued, "You believe that this... Seeing of yours is what got the Ministry interested?"

"They had a prophecy sphere of it," Harry admitted, "So I suppose that's how they found out. Before Dumbledore or Snape figured it out, even."

Remus was silent for a long time, finally starting again, "As long as you don't turn into Trelawney." He said with a boyish smirk.

"You people are impossible!" Harry cried, groaning. "Any more advice on this Ministry business?"

"I trust Professor Dumbledore to keep an eye out for any traps there might be," Remus finally said, decisively. "I will go with whatever he advises you to do."

"Thanks, Remus. Hope to speak to you about all this again, soon."

Remus vanished from the mirror and Harry put it back in his trunk, wondering where everyone else was. As soon as he walked over to the door it opened, admitting Ron and Neville.

"Figured you'd like a little alone time," Ron said, nodding at Harry's trunk. "Did Remus have anything interesting to say?"

"Nothing particularly exciting." Harry said, shrugging. "There was a meeting this afternoon and a small-scale attack. Few people hurt, but not seriously. None of your family were involved, I think."

Ron nodded sadly. "It's been going on all summer. Wish these attacks actually achieved something – every time maybe one or two are picked off, but there's double that amount of newcomers every time. Charlie and Bill spent ages talking about it in Headquarters."

"Don't worry," Neville said from his bed. "The Order can handle it. Even if they can't – there's still us."

"Where did the shy Neville Longbottom of first year go?" Harry wondered aloud, smiling. "Don't ever claim the Hat sorted you wrongly again."

* * *

Harry spent the next day thinking about the invitation – Professor McGonagall docked him twenty points for repeatedly ignoring questions, as he daydreamed about walking between those huge shelves filled to the top with small glass spheres.

That was nothing compared to what happened in Charms though – Still repeating exercises from the first few years of schooling in a refresher course, Flitwick was quite appalled to notice that Harry didn't even manage to float his feather with a simple _Wingardium Leviosa. _

"Is something the matter with your wand, Mr. Potter?" The diminutive professor inquired, curiously. "This is perhaps the simplest of charms we use here."

"I can't concentrate, Professor. Things on my mind, " Harry admitted, staring at the feather on his desk balefully. His hands were sweaty and his wand might as well have been a dead stick without focus.

"I can do this," He whispered, thinking back to his discussion with Dumbledore. The Headmaster was convinced Harry was powerful, but he hardly noticed it now.

On a whim, Harry tucked his wand back in his pocket. Might as well test it now – he was about as unfocused as he was going to get – ideal.

'Float.' Harry thought furiously, waving his hand in the direction of his feather, while Professor Flitwick was looking on curiously. The feather lifted off the desk with a start, fluttering upwards. Then the desk joined it. And Professor Flitwick.

"Oh, very good, Mr. Potter!" The Professor enthused, seemingly completely unfazed by his sudden weightlessness. Hermione was gaping as Harry carefully lowered the Professor and table back down, leaving the feather to twitch in mid-air. "A silent wandless levitation charm – quite extraordinary. Why, it must've been years since -"

"Wicked, Harry," Ron said from besides him, grinning. "You really should teach me that at some point."

Harry hadn't thought about showing off his wandless magic, feebly controllable as it was, and shrank uncomfortably under numerous awed stares or disbelieving sneers. The Slytherins, particularly, seemed to think they needed to show their contempt.

The rest of the day hadn't been much more pleasant – plenty of incredulous stares from people who hadn't been in the class and were hearing the increasingly exaggerated tales of his wandless magic. At one point he could've sworn someone claimed he'd levitated the entire room and all the students simultaneously.

It wasn't until late in the afternoon that he ran into Malfoy in one of the more deserted corridors of the school. Surprisingly, he was alone. "Potter. Hold up a moment."

"Go away, Malfoy," Harry growled, starting to walk away. Malfoy stopped him in his tracks by cutting him off.

"Wait, Potter. I just need to tell you – well – thanks." Malfoy seemed almost apologetic about something, though he couldn't hide his dislike of Harry. He looked positively mild-mannered today, even.

"I heard you approached Snape." Harry provided measuredly, wondering if he were just digging himself a deeper grave.

Malfoy nodded, looking sideways worriedly. "Look, because you helped me, I promise I won't blab about whatever I hear from Snape about you, all right?" Malfoy didn't seem to be able to stand still, and had his wand out, his fingers clasped around it tightly.

"What you've heard from Snape?" Harry said suspiciously. "Why would you know that?"

Malfoy shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. "It's... complicated. I've been keeping an eye on Professor Snape, originally because I was instructed to. "

"You're eavesdropping." Harry said wonderingly. "You've been listening in on my lessons with Snape!"

"Yes." Malfoy hissed, glancing around the empty hallway with a panicked stare. "Snape knows, now, though. He's just not figured out how I do it yet."

"You listened in, yesterday. That's what this is about." Harry concluded.

Malfoy nodded, cringing slightly. It was particularly strange seeing it on the regularly confident and proud Slytherin. "Potter... I wanted to ask you if you could do a good word for me, at the Ministry."

Harry blinked, surprised. "I don't exactly have much popularity at the Ministry myself, Malfoy."

Malfoy scoffed at that. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter, you're the Boy-Who-Lived. If you used even a fraction of your popularity you could probably get almost anyone fired that you don't like. Even Father can do that – well, he could, I suppose."

"Why would you have me, of all people, contact the Ministry about your family? Don't you think your father would be rather opposed to this?"

"You've got influence with the Ministry and Dumbledore, Potter. Think." Malfoy said furiously. "I want you to arrange my safety. You know I'm neither a Death Eater nor aspiring to be one."

"You're asking quite a bit of me, Malfoy. We don't even like each other." Harry said cautiously, his mind reeling. Malfoy was coming to _him_ for a path _away_ _from Voldemort?_

"I don't care if you hate me, Potter. I'm asking for your help. You're a bloody Gryffindor, and Dumbledore's all over the forgiveness business. You know as well as I do that you won't just let the Dark Lord kill me."

"Fine," Harry finally said. "I'll see what I can do. You've got time, Hogwarts is safe enough."

Malfoy turned to walk away. "Potter... Thank you. Give my regards to Miss Burbidge at the Department of Mysteries. She told me about your invitation."

Harry stared after Malfoy as the latter stalked down the corridor, headed for the dungeons.

"I think I will." Harry mumbled, finally.

* * *

"Come in, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. Harry let himself in and found Professor Dumbledore staring out of the windows of his tower, Fawkes perched on his shoulder like a pirate's parrot.

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said nervously, walking over. Several little devices started whirring softly, rattling on their table.

"Likewise," Dumbledore said congenially, turning around. "I hear you've been quite busy, these last few days. You seem to have been quite thorough."

"I think so," Harry said, blushing. "I figured that I should get a good number of opinions."

"Admirable, of course." Dumbledore said, "I myself have not been sitting still – I have spent several hours time with the new Minister, discussing the continuous attacks by Voldemort. I may have brought up your invitation."

Harry smirked, "What did he say?"

"It seems, Mr. Potter, that the Minister has chosen to accommodate your requests, as relayed by yours truly." Dumbledore smiled widely.

"What did he agree on, then?"

"I have made certain that you will have the free choice to leave the Unspeakables at any time, and that you will not be stopped. That is – if I am correct in assuming you intend to accept the offer." Dumbledore turned, smiling lightly. "I am afraid I assumed you would think similarly about the opportunity as I do. Perhaps make the choice I rejected."

Harry gasped, stumbling. "They asked you, too?"

"Oh, yes." Dumbledore said, nodding. "It's a very long time ago now – around the year 1900, I was approached by Unspeakables to join a new research group, focused on arithmancy and astronomy. For personal reasons I could not, at that time, accept the position, though I must admit I was tempted. I ultimately returned to Hogwarts to take up a position as teacher. As you may notice, I remain here to this day."

"Was it all this secretive, too?" Harry wondered, sinking into a chair. "I've been having conversations with everyone and their grandmother lately, and nobody knows much than little scraps. In fact, most of what is known is positively ancient."

"The heightened secrecy of the Department of Mysteries is a relatively recent development," Dumbledore lectured, "It is believed by most that the threat of the Dark Lord Grindelwald was a turning point, as that dark wizard broke into the German Ministry of Magic and succeeded in taking possession of a great many rare artefacts stored in the vaults. At the time the various different Ministries were much more closely allied than today, and as such many internationally valued items were taken and ultimately lost. In the wake of that event, international tensions grew, and security was increased. With the rise of the second Dark Lord in a century – Voldemort – the modern obliviation rules and secrecy arrangements were instated. At the time, the international treaties that had existed were already mere spectres. Today, the neutrality of the Departments of Mysteries of the various governments – or their equivalent – is assumed absolute, though it's never been seriously threatened."

"Basically, they're hiding themselves away so that Voldemort won't come and take all their stuff," Harry summarized. "I suppose it's understandable, though I don't understand why they need to keep secrets this tightly. Something's always bound to slip through."

"Indeed, Harry," Dumbledore agreed, "It is like trying to clutch water in one's hands. The harder we  
grip, the more it slips through our fingers. If Lord Voldemort gains in power, the Unspeakables must respond."

"That's a reason they want me," Harry realized. "I'm a public figure – if they need to take a stance, they've got one person they definitely know will oppose Voldemort – they'd be able to dismiss much of the suspicion."

"You have become quite insightful, my boy," Dumbledore said, petting Fawkes silently. "That seems, indeed, a likely scenario. It must mean that the Ministry's becoming nervous, at last."

"I suppose coupled with the Seeing and the positive press for the Minister, they just couldn't resist trying to get me on the team."

Fawkes crooned softly, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. It remained the most extraordinary sound he'd ever heard, phoenix song. As if reading his thought, Fawkes whistled a short tune, hopeful in tone. "Harry, how are your lessons with Professor Snape progressing?" The Headmaster suddenly asked, squinting.

"It's been going... well," Harry allowed. "We don't like each other much, but it's not like last year. We have short conversations, sometimes. He's even thanked me for something. I haven't called him names – not to his face, at least. He can only break into a few surface thoughts now, and I can block out the fire visions entirely, if I want. We're getting somewhere."

Dumbledore hummed happily, smiling. "I suppose I could ask no more of you – but I appreciate the extent to which you can tolerate each other. Severus tells me you've been in contact with other people you've many reasons to dislike."

"Malfoy." Harry muttered, thinking back on Snape's ambiguous comments before Occlumency training. "I need to speak to you about that. He approached me, earlier."

"You voluntarily listened what Draco Malfoy had to say, despite your considerable – and understandable – dislike of him and his father? I do believe that I must agree with Severus : you are not, in fact, completely addled."

Harry rolled his eyes, but continued. "He asked me to see if I could arrange anything with you and the Ministry for him and his mother. He wishes safety from Lord Voldemort."

"I am aware of this, Harry," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Professor Snape notified me of a most enlightening conversation he had with Mr. Malfoy. Apparently he only shared a few brief words with you, but they scared him out of a perpetual cycle of degeneration that would've undoubtedly ended in most terrible consequences."

"He would've become a Death Eater." Harry said, nodding. Whatever this talk had been, it had clearly weighed on Malfoy's mind far more than on his own. Had he not noticed the Slytherin's plight at all, but merely answered as he felt was right, as if the conversation was a normal one? He couldn't remember. Harry suddenly chilled, considering that Malfoy might have obliviated the conversation from his mind – though that seemed silly, as Malfoy had spoken about it quite openly. Had someone else obliviated it? Why then not remove the memory from Malfoy as well?

"You turned him from that path, and he contacted Professor Snape as per your advice. Severus seemed as surprised as I was that you'd even consider that course of action."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered, "I don't hate Professor Snape, Headmaster. I just really, really dislike him. There's only one person I could be said to hate."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, doubtlessly thinking of those same cold red eyes. Minutes ticked by as the old Headmaster continued to study the grounds, while Harry tried to puzzle out what he'd forgotten about Malfoy. Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Am I correct in assuming you have made your decision?"

"Yes, Professor." Harry answered shortly. "You already knew that, though. I suspect you've already arranged for the Unbreakable Vows you were asked to take."

"Is that a yes, Harry?" Dumbledore asked with a ghostly smile.

"Yes, Professor. I suppose you are looking at the future Unspeakable Potter." Harry bowed with a flourish, and he intoned with a mocking gesture "Better test out what the Ministry's got to offer, don't you think?"

* * *

**Author's Note :** Credit for a few lines here go to :

Quote from Alan Watts

Quote from Julia Cameron

I respond to every decently sized review, by the way, so feel free to remark scathingly on my terrible writing or otherwise. I am searching for a betareader, but thus far none of those I've messaged have turned out to be terribly responsive.

The next chapter – which takes place almost exclusively at the Ministry of Magic, London – will be out soon. Several characters previously mentioned will be introduced to Harry therein. Also, more Moody!


	5. Acclimation : Duality

**Chapter 5 : Duality**

"Is this really necessary?" Harry asked nervously, as he straightened the formal dress robe Croaker had delivered earlier in the day – black with narrow green borders on the front; it was vaguely reminiscent of Dumbledore's robes in cut, if not as hard on the eyes without all the glitter. "It's just a tour, I won't be attending any balls."

Croaker chuckled good-naturedly, giving a critical look towards Harry's messy mop of hair, which had one again refused to respond to any attempt at controlling it. "You will be escorted through the Ministry of Magic, at the request of the Minister himself. You can hardly show up wearing muggle rags or a school robe, now can you?"

Harry thought back to Dudley's clothing that was still stashed in his trunk and shuddered at how accurate Croaker was in his description. He didn't feel Dudley's hand-me-downs would impress the Minister for Magic very much. "I suppose you must be right. Still, I feel like I'll stand out. I'm already the bloody Boy-Who-Lived to them, I hardly need to look like a Malfoy too."

"This is a publicity occasion, as you well know, mister Potter," Croaker replied. "There will most likely be some media attention – pictures will be taken, even if there's no formal conversation with the press. You will be representing the Ministry from now on, so it is imperative that out in public, you are presentable."

Harry nodded, gulping. He was used to having media attention – even if he hated it – but he felt this might be a whole new type. The Minister for Magic clearly had this all figured out, though. He desperately hoped that having an Unspeakable along would ward off some of the journalists, though he had no illusions about avoiding Rita Skeeter.

"I am stepping out, Mr. Potter," Croaker announced, grumbling. "I will make a quick stop at your Potions Professor. Please remain here."

Harry and the Unspeakable had borrowed Professor Flitwick's office for a moment – the diminutive professor hadn't even seemed surprised at the Unspeakable commandeering it. It was a mere two days after he'd let the Unspeakable know he'd be joining the Department of Mysteries, and already rumours were everywhere in the hallways, if terribly vague. Harry had heard of him becoming the Minister's new aide, a dragon tamer (presumably because of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament,) and everything in between.

Harry secretly rather liked his new robe – it was of far better quality than any of his others and rather comfortable – but he self-consciously checked himself in the mirror again; he'd silenced it, as its compliments merely made him more nervous. Harry figured he'd be getting some of the flowing baggy robes that Croaker wore when he got to do actual work.

"Mister Potter," a voice said from behind him – an unknown voice. Harry whipped around – Croaker had warded the room thoroughly and it shouldn't have allowed strangers to enter. His wand was in his hand in an instant and pointed at the new arrival.

The man that strolled in unconcernedly looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows, he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked suspiciously, his wand already in his hand.

The man chuckled and shook his head merrily. "I do hope you will be less jumpy when we arrive in the Ministry. We can't have you assaulting or threatening the staff, now can we?"

"Croaker?" Harry asked with a blink, lowering his wand a fraction. Only one explanation came to mind. "Did you use Polyjuice Potion?"

"A good guess," Croaker said, his eyes twinkling in a rather Dumbledore-like fashion behind his glasses. "There are several reasons for this little deception – I assure you, it is completely authorized – although I would appreciate it if you didn't alert anyone."

"Whose form did you take? I thought you Unspeakables hid your face anyway?" Harry wondered, realizing that soon enough it wouldn't be 'you Unspeakables' but 'us'.

"This would be the form of the most illustrious Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour," Croaker announced, standing proudly. "I'm afraid that the Minister has requested this little subterfuge as he has pressing engagements elsewhere – I'm sure you can imagine his many duties – and someone needed to fill this role. Since we don't know exactly who will notice, it's best that I fit the same physical description throughout any observations."

"Why you, though?" Harry asked, bewildered. "You'll be wearing those big cowled robes, nobody will know who it is anyway."

"There are quite a number of people that know the Minister for Magic's voice, Mr. Potter," the disguised Croaker said with a smirk. "Besides that, there will undoubtedly come the time to strategically lose my disguise – just in time for a picture for tomorrow's Prophet."

"Why would you want it to be in the paper that you were hiding out with me? Especially if you're impersonating the Minister for Magic?"

Croaker chuckled, shrugging. "Several rumours have been going around the Ministry – the most popular alleges that the Minister for Magic himself is escorting a new high-profile member of the Ministry through all departments for a quick tour. Your presence in the Ministry will doubtlessly be connected to this rumour. It is a fairly credible rumour, given that the Minister is well-known as being a former auror who took an interest in recruits. An accidental confirmation of the rumour will be beneficial."

"Rumours go around as quickly as they do in Hogwarts," Harry said, amazed.

"I spread it, Mr. Potter," Croaker said with a slight smile, "With authorization of course. Minister Scrimgeour was most amenable to my idea, you'll find, as it will ensure that you receive positive press – the Prophet won't dare to slander the Minister – and it gives him a useful alibi."

"The Minister needs an alibi," Harry said with a smile, "Figures even he gets tired of all the rules sometimes."

"I'm assured his plans are quite important," Croaker said carefully, "That's hardly our chief concern at this time. It's still early – we can get to the Ministry just after the morning rush, hopefully avoiding the largest crowds entirely. You will have a brief meeting with, well, myself -" Croaker smirked, waving at himself. "I'll switch with my other self there, as far as the staff goes. We'll go by the various departments thereafter. You'll most likely come into contact with most of the Departments in due time, as they're all interconnected. Especially the Department you're joining."

Harry nodded, pocketing his wand. "I suppose we should be going, then. Do we have to warn anyone that we're off?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore and your friends have been informed of your departure – they are expecting you back the coming weekend for a small celebration, as I understand. I would rather dissuade you from elaborate goodbye-gestures; it'll merely make things difficult."

Harry nodded as he strode out of the office towards the entrance hall – Croaker was close behind. Little was said along the way and there were very few students in the halls. Croaker's cowled form didn't invite anyone to take up a conversation in any case. When outside, Harry wistfully looked back at the castle as they stepped on the road towards Hogsmeade – it remained a beautiful place and its spires glittered in the early sun. He'd probably not come back here as a student for a while – if at all.

"It's been a privilege," Harry muttered, a thin smile on his face, thinking back on his many adventures here. He should get too caught up – he'd be back within the week, after all.

Draco Malfoy, his long-time school enemy, was watching him leave. The Slytherin was standing just outside the entrance hall doors in an oddly stiff posture. Harry didn't have time to think about it further, as apparently they'd reached the edge of the castle's defensive wards – with a sickening feeling like being squeezed through a tube that was far too tight, a short moment in which breathing was entirely impossible, Harry vanished.

* * *

"Blimey!" Harry muttered as he worked himself back to his feet, brushing dust off his new robe. "That was quite a ride. Could you warn me next time when you do that?"

"Apparition can be somewhat uncomfortable to the beginner," Croaker said shortly, glancing at a small pocket watch. "You will doubtlessly get lessons soon enough – all Ministry employees are mandated to know basic apparition. The sensation will become quite commonplace."

Harry shook himself again, blinking wildly. "I think I'm all right."

The disguised Croaker nodded, and pulled his Unspeakable cloak closely around himself, his face already well-hidden. The two of them were standing besides the very entryway that Harry had used mere months ago to break into the Ministry on a quest to save Sirius. Croaker stepped into the phone booth first, leaving space for Harry.

As the dial whirred smoothly back into place from inserting the combination, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter, appointment with the Minister for Magic, as well as a tour." Croaker said impatiently.

There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square golden badge with 'Harry Potter, VIW' written on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again. "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Figures they don't have you registered yet. This entrance is always terribly slow," Croaker complained, as the box, shuddering, descended into the floor. "Unspeakables have their own apparition point so that we can arrive and leave covertly, and most employees simply flush themselves here."

"Flush?" Harry inquired, as the Atrium came into view.

"Via public toilet," Croaker explained and Harry paled. "Oh, don't worry – it's quite hygienic. Certainly less nauseating than the public floo."

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the woman's voice. The door of the telephone box sprang open and Croaker stepped briskly out of it, followed by Harry.

They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor; Harry recognized it immediately from his previous visits. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. Several scorch marks marred it, though – several wizards in grey robes were floating nearby on brooms, their wands pointing at the spots and releasing brightly coloured spells, though their spells seemed to be bouncing off the marred ceiling more often than not.

Halfway down the hall were the remains of the fountain that Dumbledore had animated last year. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, had stood there in the middle of a circular pool. A noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air, Harry remembered – he was sure there'd also been a house-elf and goblin. Now, there was little more than the broken remnant of a few feet and the ghastly sight of a detached arm prodding upward as if reaching for the ceiling. From somewhere besides the statue the pops and cracks of apparition and the clatter of footsteps resounded, though Harry couldn't make out where it came from with any precision.

Croaker led him across the middle of the room, winding his way between the Ministry workers, many of whom were apparently studying the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. As they passed the fountain Harry saw that the water was gone, and only a few knuts remained at its bottom. A small sign declared that the fountain would be rebuilt as soon as someone capable of reshaping it was found. Harry was sure Dumbledore would be unwilling to rebuild it as it had been.

"Follow, Mr. Potter," said Croaker in that harsh voice, as Harry had fallen behind. Seated at a desk to the left of the hall beneath a sign that proclaimed "Security", a wizard in peacock blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet.

"I'm escorting a visitor," said Croaker. "He has an urgent appointment."

The wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back. Harry had the strangest feeling he'd done this before. The object was undoubtedly a secrecy sensor, he decided.

"Wand," grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. The wizard dropped it on to a brass set of scales with one dish and it began to vibrate - A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. "Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four or five years. That correct? Hey, wait..."

"That's right." Harry said, his eyes lighting up. "I remember you! You did this same thing when I was here for my bogus trial!"

"Mr. Potter, so very nice to meet you," the man said, as he spied Harry's visitor badge. "I didn't get the opportunity to thank you for your services last time, so since you're here now..." The man shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. "I have heard many rumours – if they're true, I wish you welcome."

"Thank you, Mister...?" Harry fished, smiling slightly and forcing himself not to retreat.

"Oh, name's Meryn. Alastor told me all about you," the man enthused. "Well, strictly speaking he didn't actually mention who he was talking about, but I think my guess was pretty good."

"Give Moody my regards," Harry said, as he stepped back, grabbing his wand.

"He's visiting the Department of Magical Law Enforcement today, you'll probably run into him on the way up," Meryn said, eyeing the 'VIW' on Harry's badge. "I figure you're on your way up to Level 1? Very Important Wizarding business, eh?"

"That's quite enough out of you," Croaker said dismissively, glaring at the wizard who seemed like he'd ask for an autograph any moment. "Let's get going, Mr. Potter."

Harry quickly followed Croaker as the Unspeakable moved away at his previous brisk pace. Croaker had grabbed a small bottle from his robes and was sipping it. "You'll find quite a few people here are familiar with Alastor Moody – not all of them are trustworthy. Some of them merely know him since they've been caught by the old bastard."

Harry snorted as they made their way through the golden doorways and into a small room in which ended no less than twenty elevators. Croaker made for the only one that wasn't lit up, and which didn't have any queue near it. With a flourish of his wand, it slid open, admitting the two of them only.

"One of the perks of being in the Department of Mysteries." Croaker explained, as the lift started to ascend. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement also has access though they don't generally use the elevators. They've got their own apparition points to use as well."

"I can just use this elevator whenever I wish?" Harry asked as it began to rise – unlike the normal elevators, there were merely several dozen blinking lights along the side – this elevator wasn't travelling constantly to pick up and drop off passengers, but controlled from within. Croaker had tapped the second button from the top, and the elevator rose swiftly.

"There's a non-verbal spell involved, that incorporates a personalized password for every user. Any use of the elevator is registered downstairs, including any wand signatures – much the same as the security wizard checked earlier – so we can be sure it's secure. I doubt you can even do non-verbal magic at this point, so it's a moot point for now. You wouldn't want to be shouting your password, after all."

With a screech the elevator came to a halt, though there had been no sensation of movement at all. Croaker pulled his cowl back from his face and took a deep breath, pulling a hand through his borrowed mane. "That's better."

The door slid open soundlessly, opening up to a sizeable office containing a large mahogany desk and a large red-backed chair that had carved hippogriffs all across its sides – the office was slightly rounded and on the dark red walls were a large number of important-looking documents and a handful of gleaming silver blades hanging by their hilts. Behind the desk was a rather recognizable man – the very same man that was presently right besides him – the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, drinking a fresh cup of coffee.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour said with a smile that looked remarkably dangerous. "I'm afraid I cannot spend much time you today - I do hope you will enjoy your time here. I'll take this as my cue to leave." he stood up, and Harry arched an eyebrow.

"We have nothing to discuss?" Harry inquired confusedly as the Minister made his way to the elevator Harry had just vacated. "I figured with you requesting a meeting..." Harry gulped, realizing he was being rather rude. "I'm sorry, I was just curious."

"No problem," Scrimgeour said with a shrug. "I requested you here to make sure nobody, not even my staff, suspected that I was replaced. My assistant – he's in the next room, young Weasley fellow, I understand you're a friend of the family – if he doesn't realize it, I'm good. I trust you've kept out of the public eye so far?"

Croaker answered affirmatively. "Ran into Meryn downstairs, but he didn't recognize the voice, luckily. Nobody else even looked at me funny, though I'm sure Mr. Potter was recognized."

"We will meet again later today, Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour said, nodding as he stepped into the elevator. "Keep yourself safe, now."

"What a peculiar fellow, eh?" Croaker asked with amusement, as the Minister vanished from view.

"I wouldn't know," Harry answered honestly. "I've barely met the man. I suppose he's a good step up from Fudge, though."

Croaker grinned slightly, which looked particularly vicious on the borrowed face of the Minister. "Let's meet the Minister's aide, then. I take it you are already familiar with him."

"I didn't know Percy still had such a high job at the Ministry," Harry admitted, thinking back on the events of last year. "I figured he'd get demoted after Fudge's fall from grace."

"Although Mr. Weasley has his flaws, you give him too little credit," Croaker noted airily. "Your headmaster may have his suspicions on the reason he was placed in such a high position – and I dare say he may be right – but the fact is he filled the position admirably. Minister Scrimgeour would never have held him on if that weren't the case."

"I should tell Mrs. Weasley that sometime," Harry said, sadly. "Percy's been really distant with his whole family ever since Fudge and Dumbledore got into a row."

"Really?" Croaker said, sniffing. "I'll keep an eye on it if you wish – we don't need any families broken before war's even properly begun, now do we?"

Harry and Croaker stepped out into the hallway, where Percy immediately sprang to his feet. Croaker still had his cowl down and immediately took a regal stance, looking down on Percy through his glasses with a look that allowed no criticism.

"Good to see you, Perce." Harry said with a friendly smile, trying to come across amiably. Perhaps in the presence of the minister he'd actually get a decent response.

"Harry Potter. Didn't figure I'd see you with the Minister," Percy replied, seemingly forgetting his boss was standing right next to him. Percy actually seemed – relaxed. For Percy, that was positively weird.

"I will be escorting Mister Potter through the Ministry. There are three Aurors shadowing us and we will not be leaving the building, which should minimize any risk – As you can see I'm also disguised. I will not be needing you for the next few hours."

"Will Potter be disguised as well?" Percy asked warily. "He'll stir up more trouble than you could on your own, considering all the coverage in the papers."

"I'm afraid hiding Mr. Potter will be relatively inconsequential, given that he is expected to work here starting – well – today." Croaker answered, "Isn't that right, Mr. Potter?"

"Seems we'll be colleagues of a kind," Harry answered with a smile. "I'll be working somewhere downstairs though, I'm sure. Probably won't see each other much."

"I would hesitate to be so certain, Mr. Potter. I have no doubt you'll be seeing quite a bit of me," Croaker said softly, winking.

"What Department?" Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. "Considering your Quidditch success, are you taking up Ludo Bagman's old position? Though I hear it's been filled already. I don't see why they'd ask a student, either..."

"Mr. Potter will be joining the Department of Mysteries," Croaker said, sounding quite kingly indeed – even proud. "He has been personally invited by myself and several highly placed operatives among the Unspeakables. I expect it will be in the papers by tomorrow."

"The Department of Mysteries!" Percy gasped, his eyes wide. "I hope you know what you're getting into, Potter. I hear people vanish in that place. Never seen again."

"Nonsense, nonsense," Croaker said, waving it off. "I'm sure he will fit in quite nicely. There's several projects that I feel Mr. Potter's skills will be of use in already. There is a degree of secrecy involved, of course."

"Does Ronald know?" Percy asked softly, surprising Harry. "He has more right to know what you're up to than me."

Harry nodded, looking at Percy with some pity. "You should just talk to them, Percy." Harry said, but he noted that the older Weasley brother had his jaw set. "They miss you."

"We'll see," he said, and turned away. "I'll reorganize your desk so you may use it more effectively, Minister. Please keep an eye on the time – you do have other appointments today."

"Of course, Weasley." Croaker said as he led Harry away through the corridors, towards the staircases that connected the first and second floors, skipping the elevators.

"I almost didn't recognize him there," Harry said, amazed, thinking back on Percy's appearance and words. "What on earth did the Minister do to him?"

Croaker laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling in that Dumbledore-like way Harry wished he could imitate. "Mr. Weasley has been reprimanded several times for acting in an overly stuffy manner. I believe our present Minister prefers directness and a certain independence, unlike the last one. Mr. Weasley, being at the side of the Minister for most of the day merely has more – exposure – than most to this way of thinking."

"Ron's never going to believe I had a civil conversation with Percy." Harry said wonderingly, smirking. "Shouldn't you get that cowl on? Unless you want to advertise your identity to everyone right off the bat?

"Better not, better not." Croaker agreed, slipping the robe's hood over his face, shadowing his features. That effect, Harry figured, was doubtlessly magical in nature.

* * *

"_Cingi Aversabilis Aequabilitas!"_ Moody cried, dodging sideways to avoid a maroon-coloured beam of light from hitting him. It sizzled past with an eerie crackling noise. The next beam hit straight on but bounced harmlessly towards the ceiling.

"A shield against Auror spells, Mad-Eye?" a second voice asked with a chuckle, "Figure you'd be the one to expect your own allies backstabbing you."

"It's useful, innit?" Moody barked, cursing for the umpteenth time that he only had one well-working leg. _"Diffindo."_

The blond Auror ducked out of the way of the cutting curse which skimmed just over his hair. "Look out where you're aiming that, you could take a head off!"

"If you can't dodge such a pitiful curse you're not worth anything to the Aurors anyway," Moody spat harshly, as he circled his foe. "You haven't even got a hit on me yet, and I can see several spots I already got you bleeding. Give up."

The blond Auror sighed, raising his wand again – Moody tensed in response. "You've been duelling for hours, Mad-Eye – we know you're good at this stuff. You hardly need to prove that to us – you trained most of us, for crying out loud!"

"Live up to your name and be proud on yer feet, not a coward on your behind, Proudfoot," Moody barked roughly, sending several silent stinging hexes towards the Auror, who stepped back. "You and Williamson are piss-poor examples of Aurors and I don't want to know what the next generation will be like. I've only met one Auror of the new batch that is even worth the time."

"Little Nymphadora," A pony-tailed Auror said, sitting off to the site of the duelling hall, lurking from a flask of whiskey. "I don't know what you see in her, Mad-Eye. She's always tripping over things and the only thing she does with that metamorphing of hers is fancy hair colours."

"She's got something none of you scum have, Williamson. She's got courage. Spades of it." Mad-Eye circled again, then quickly levelled his wand with a whispered _"Deprimo."_

Auror Proudfoot hadn't even noticed it coming – within an instant he was crumpled down on the ground, his wand rolling away, as he struggled to breathe and push himself upright. There was a struggle for a few more moments but the Auror was incapable of doing more than twitching and mumbling.

"I win." Moody said shortly, pocketing his wand after breaking off the spell. "Pressure spell – a kid's spell, learned it ages ago. Of course it's a bit more powerful than that of most students..."

Proudfoot grumbled, nursing his wand hand that had been rather rudely snapped forward by the sudden extreme weight of it and what it was holding. The Pressure spell was designed to increase the apparent weight of its target; although the weight was imaginary, it was quite convincing enough for the brain to respond with a panicked lock-down of control over one's muscles.

"Look presentable, folks - we've got company," Moody said and he grinned – his artificial eye aimed straight at the back of his own head.

* * *

Alastor!" Harry said with a grin as he descended the stairs. He'd been standing at the entrance to the duelling hall for minutes, watching the duel progress; it was a large grey room with entrances several dozen feet above on each side, with rickety wooden stairs that appeared to have been repaired with spellotape and good wishes. The second level of the Ministry was the largest in sheer size, Croaker had claimed; Harry could now imagine what the man meant. This was but one of half a dozen duelling halls, all of which hailed from the times when disputes among magical families were settled with duels to the death. Each was at least two or three hundred feet long and half as wide, though most of it wasn't in use.

"Figured I'd see you around here one of these days, Potter." Moody said, turning around to face him. "The people around here don't have too many secrets for little old me. Might not be employed any more but they don't have too many problems with my visits."

"It's all a bit more than I expected," Harry admitted, smiling. Croaker, still safely polyjuiced, looked on from a distance, acting as if merely an escort. Moody, of course, noticed him right away, and probably looked straight through the Unspeakable robe. Harry tried not to think too deeply about it. "I've been in the Ministry before but I never figured it was all so huge."

"Quite the tour guide you have there, Harry," Moody said, with a frown. "Didn't think the big cheese would actually go and do it himself. Shows you what I know."

"It's not actually him," Harry whispered conspiratorially. "It's actually an Unspeakable that's using Polyjuice. Reminds me of fourth year, really. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have the real one locked in a trunk though."

Moody grimaced, looking at Croaker with a curious penetrating look - then he smirked knowingly. "You'd better not keep the guy waiting, Harry. I'll be here all week – I'm sure you'll want to talk to someone directly – and I figure we'll get plenty of chances to chat afterwards. Maybe do a little training. You've been keeping up on that, haven't you?"

"I thought you'd stopped training people," Williamson commented, getting to his feet. "You gave us quite a speech when we tried to get you to train us in advanced duelling. You're going out of your way to train a pipsqueak instead?"

"Neither of you ever dared to get up close and personal with Lord Voldemort," Moody stated coldly, and Harry noticed both Williamson and Proudfoot flinched at the name. "You call yourself Aurors and you cower at his bleeding name? Potter here has duelled the guy, caught in a couple of his schemes – and he still doesn't flee from his name like a sissy."

"Hotshot, eh?" Proudfoot said with more certainty than his cowering stance would suggest. He gazed at Harry who fidgeted at the attention. "Up for a little spar, Potter?"

Moody snorted in amusement, turning to Harry, who took a quick look at Croaker – the Unspeakable merely shrugged."If you wish. I'm hardly an expert at duelling, I mostly do surviving," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"Good place to start from," Moody said with a smile. "If I weren't careful about my own life I wouldn't be here to rag on your performance. I figure we'll limit the spells to Hogwarts fare, given your limited education."

"No problem," Proudfoot conceded. His clothes were marked with blood spatter all over though the wounds were already healed, but his stance was steady and sure. "Plenty of things to choose from, if nothing too exciting."

Harry and Proudfoot paced apart carefully, taking up positions in two brightly marked circles etched into the floor. Harry slipped his wand out of his pocket and grabbing it tightly, trying to remember all the spells he'd learned over the years especially in his dreadful series of Defence classes. Moody walked between them and raised his hand, and announced : "First one to knock the other unconscious or harmless wins. Keep it civil." He lowered his hand and stepped back – a bright red stunning spell zoomed right past him on a direct route to Harry.

"_Protego!"_ Harry said quickly, swiping his wand sideways – the spell sizzled out with a sputter of pink and green sparks. _"Stupefy!"_

His own stunning spell missed badly, as Proudfoot was moving, quick on his feet and already angling to approach. With a start, Harry realized it wasn't a static duel like in the duelling club, and he thought back on his few real fights – the only real one he could remember actually using defensive spells was back in the Department of Mysteries.

"You'll have to do better than that," Proudfoot taunted, as he shot several more stunning spells, all easily blocked or evaded, though Harry had a hard time countering with his own offensive charms. "I won't go easy on you forever!"

"_Magicus Telum!"_ Harry snapped, estimating where Proudfoot would be in a moment. The bright blue concussive blast smacked into Proudfoot's arm and the man winced, though he wasn't blasted off his feet as the spell was meant to do. Harry, emboldened, cast it again, only for it to be reflected easily, without even a spoken incantation.

"Come on, Potter." his foe taunted again – Harry had already forgotten about the other people around him, and was focusing exclusively on the other wizard's wand movements, which were erratic. He was quite aware that vocalized spells were not the only option. _"Confumentis!"_ Proudfoot intoned, but Harry sidestepped it.

"Jelly-Brain Jinxes? Really?" Harry said in return, getting into the spirit of things. "Don't you have anything better to throw at me?"

"Why, of course." Proudfoot answered, sending an barrage of stinging hexes into Harry's quickly cast shield charm. Moody who had been watching from a small distance away backed off towards the stairs, where Williamson was cheering on his colleague with sparks from his wand. "I've got plenty. _Fidus Attingo!"_

Harry jumped aside to dodge the brightly glowing white spell that zoomed towards him with an eerie wail – it changed course in mid-flight and Harry was forced to duck under it. When the spell turned yet again to find Harry, he finally conjured a shield charm and the spell exploded against it with a sizzle and a puff of smoke. "That was a nice one, can't remember learning it. Let's see what you think of _Expulso!"_

Proudfoot jumped back as the air in front of him exploded violently, spreading dust and dirt across the floor; it was considerably stronger than he's ever tried in Defence against the Dark Arts, since he was usually paired up with Ron who wasn't too certain about his Shield Charms. "Better," the Auror admitted.

"_Deprimo!"_ Harry barked, thinking back on the way he'd seen Moody end his fight when he'd entered the duelling hall. He poured his energy into it, forcing his wand down with a slash, thinking back on how he'd forced power into his spell back in the graveyard with Voldemort. 'Now's not the time to think about this,' Harry thought furiously. Proudfoot was ready for it, though, and didn't lose his wand as he collapsed down to the floor – with a tiny flourish of it he was back on his feet, seemingly unaffected, though he looked at Harry with a modicum of respect.

"Can't catch me with the same trick twice." Proudfoot joked, smirking, as he aimed his wand back at Harry. "Taste of your own medicine, then? _Deprimo."_

Suddenly everything felt enormously heavy – Harry's wand fell out of his hand as if he'd been trying to hold up a ton of bricks with one finger – his body crumpled down to the floor, incapable of sustaining its own weight. With a groan, Harry tried to grab at his wand, but his hand wouldn't move more than twitches. Proudfoot cried victory, smiling, though Moody merely looked at Harry with a knowing smirk.

"_Accio Wand!"_ Harry thought furiously, thinking back to those times he'd summoned things in Dumbledore's office. This was precisely when he needed that. Concentration.

"_Accio Wand."_ Harry whispered, almost out of breath - the wand slipped across the floor and into his waiting wand hand, much to his foe's astonishment. Proudfoot was not in time to react and a muttered _Expelliarmus_ spell caught him square in the ribs sending his wand flying across the room and finally breaking the pressure of the curse. Harry inhaled deeply, hauling himself to his feet, firing off a stunning spell that caught Proudfoot squarely in the stomach. "That was fun."

Proudfoot worked himself up to his feet again after a few seconds, blinking furiously – the Disarming charm had been rather strong, and had knocked him around quite a bit. "Blimey, Potter, that's quite an ace up your sleeve there. Not too many here who could pull of a wandless _Accio_ in a jiffy."

"He's got his work cut out for him, but he's got potential." Williamson commented wryly. "He's probably better than I was when I joined the Ministry, and I'd graduated. That wandless thing is more something I'd expect from you, Alastor – did you drill that into the poor sod? I'd heard Hogwarts had rather poor Defence teachers of late."

"That's true," Harry said, thinking back on the terrible record with the various teachers. "Mostly our teachers have been incompetent or plain evil. The students have been forced to arrange for a bit of self-study. We had an entire unofficial club last year."

"Wasn't that in the papers?" Williamson said, pondering. "Something about Dumbledore buildin' an army in the school? It was all retracted later, I believe... Bit suspicious."

"We were Dumbledore's Army, yes. It was sort of a play on what the Minister most feared at the time," Harry admitted, smiling. "Umbridge was the Defence teacher and she was awful – so we taught ourselves some duelling and defence spells."

"The Headmaster didn't actually teach you lot, did he?" Proudfoot asked as he sank down on the bench next to Williamson. "Can't believe Dolores Umbridge would be set in front of a classroom – she's hardly an expert in defensive magic."

"Actually, the club was sort of taught by me," Harry admitted with a blush. "I had the most practical experience and I knew a few pretty good spells that almost nobody could do – Patronus and such – so Hermione convinced me to do it. I suspect she and Ron will take over this year."

"He does sound like you, Mad-Eye," Williamson said with a laugh. "We heard the legends all right about your time in school. Illegal duelling clubs and tournaments, eh?"

Moody coloured slightly but didn't comment. Williamson shrugged and grimaced. "Umbridge is quite a piece of work, ain't she? Can't believe she still has a job after they found that torture implement on her."

"Let me guess, quill that writes in your own blood?" Harry asked wryly, nursing his hand. "I hope I never run into her again – I don't know what I'd do."

Williamson sighed, shifting his weight. "I assume you're another one of those that it was used on? Monstrous things, those blood quills – the wounds take forever to go away, I understand. Hope she didn't get you too badly."

Harry wordlessly turned his scarred hand to Williamson, who gasped. "It's one of the reasons I'm still wary of the Ministry. If the likes of Umbridge can stay employed, something is wrong."

Finally he turned to Croaker, who had been watching from the doorway since the beginning. "I could walk with you for a bit? Need to go visit a few floors down."

"You're just going to leave us here," Proudfoot complained, though he also stood up. "I suppose that means I should go and do something productive today. I should head to the Obliviator headquarters, are you heading that way?"

"You are free to come along for a floor or two," Croaker said in a soft voice, nodding. "As for the Umbridge situation – I'm sure that the Minister will make sure she has a full trial when the opportunity arises, mister Potter."

* * *

"Still think it's strange and abysmally worrisome," mumbled Moody as he followed the faux-Scrimgeour away from the Department of Law Enforcement, crossing back towards the stairs. Unfortunately for Harry most of the Aurors were presently not on Ministry duty and even the Department Head was off somewhere, so there wasn't much to see. Moody had been complaining about the state of the Aurors for some time now, scoffing at the few hitwizards that passed by.

"I figure they're all simply hunting Death Eaters," Harry commented with a shrug. "At least, that's what I hope they're doing. Besides the few that have been following us around since we left the first floor," Harry recalled. "We could ask them what they know, I suppose."

"Shadowing doesn't tend to involve talking to the person you're shadowing," Croaker said with an amused smile. "There's reasons why the Aurors aren't all that exciting today. I'm sure that you'll share some mission or other with them soon enough and you'll find out what they can do. At the moment, you don't have the clearance to know what they're up to."

The trio finally reached the next set of stairs that'd take them downwards towards the third level of the Ministry. Croaker had only really arranged for one more meeting : a representative of the Obliviator squads. Harry had the sinking feeling he'd probably already met the man but didn't remember.

"You'll like Arnold, Harry," Moody said with a crooked grin, his magical eye whirring in its socket. "He's a hard worker and he's actually considering going for a more dangerous position in the Ministry; I suspect it's mostly because he's forgotten how to quit and he probably suspects somebody obliviated him about that."

"Your friends are paranoid too," Harry commented lightly. "I am not even slightly surprised."

"Arnold Peasegood's a good man, though he has his flaws," Croaker said. "For one, he's rather looselipped – I suppose that's counteracted by his ability to just make people forget it when he misspeaks."

"I think the only person he doesn't dare try to memory charm is me," Moody said gruffly. "I'm one of the few that can keep an eye on his wand even when he's hiding it in those obliviator cloaks, and he knows it."

Croaker didn't comment, though Harry noticed a thin smile. When Harry finally descended the last steps towards the third floor – which, unlike the other floors, was lit with torches very reminiscent of Hogwarts - a clear voice rang out from the direction of the elevators : "Level 3: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." Moody's eye spun quickly in its socket, and stopped briefly – a crooked smile appeared on the ex-Auror's face.

"Alastor!" A tall gray-clad wizard said, as he loped over from one of the many hallways that departed from the intersection. He had a rather prominent beak-like nose and a puffy grey-brown hairdo that looked entirely suitable for the eighteenth century. Around his neck was a peculiar silvery triangular necklace that glittered in the torchlight.

"'Lo, Arnie." Moody answered lightly. "I'm delivering these two to your care. Do make sure they remember they've been here. I've got an appointment with the Mad Hatter."

"You shouldn't call him that. Besides, don't be silly, Alastor." Arnold Peasegood said with a small smile. "I'll speak to you over drinks, I'm sure. I can tell you if I had to obliviate anything there."

Moody twitched and nudged Croaker, his eye twirling. Whatever it meant, Croaker tensed up. "No good reason for me to stick around – I'll see if I can get anything done today. I'll see you this week, I'm sure. Do keep an eye out for danger, all right? Constant vigilance!" Moody said with a smile.

Harry wanted to respond but Moody had already stumbled off. He was probably looking back with his magical eyeball, though. Peasegood was staring after the wizard curiously.

"So..." Harry said finally, after a lengthy silence. "Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter."

"Of course, of course!" Peasegood said, flustered. "So very good to meet you. I'm Arnold Peasegood and I work as an Obliviator, here at the Ministry. I work with the Unspeakables quite a bit – I'm aware of your employment, of course – and I heartily welcome you! I'm one of the main contacts between the Departments, you see."

"Nice to meet you – for the first time, I hope." Harry said with a smile.

"Yes, yes..." Peasegood answered, with a little laugh. "I doubt we've met yet – of course, there's no way to be absolutely sure."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably as he looked back at Croaker. "I'm assuming that we'll actually get some agreement about this memory modification stuff? It's bad enough to know there's people that can read minds."

"There are certain perks to being an Unspeakable," Croaker answered. "Occlumency training is mandatory - I'm afraid that obliviation of sensitive information is still common, though most secrets in the Department are locked away with a key phrase, allowing agents to recall the events if it's ever needed."

"Why don't you do that for everyone?" Harry wondered aloud, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm afraid that the answer is rather related to convenience – this form of obliviation requires consent." Peasegood answered. "There's a lot of discussion about the ethical use of obliviation among law wizards, of course. Luckily, abuse is relatively rare due to strict control."

"I'm sure," Harry answered, shaking his head. "I bet it's a riveting topic. I just hope I'll get to remember what I'm doing here."

Peasegood looked behind him suddenly, tracking a small paper aeroplane that came soaring in from a nondescript hallway among many. "That's for me, I expect," the obliviator announced, catching it with a practised movement. "I'm sure we'll see each other again, mister Potter – possibly later today at dinner."

"Of course, mister Peasegood," Harry said quickly as the wizard proceeded to run off in the direction Moody had left earlier with barely a goodbye. He hadn't even opened the letter yet.

"Busy as usual," Croaker said, nudging Harry on. "I'll have a discussion with Arnie at a later time – he's a bit forgetful at times and he probably didn't fully recognize he should provide a tour. I'm sure you'll get the opportunity, though. We should move on. The ins and outs of keeping secrets is not really a topic we should discuss in public hallways."

Harry shrugged as Croaker once more set off at a quick pace, striding out down a next set of stairs next to the elevator. "We're heading towards the bottom floors at a bit of a pace, since most of the next floors are currently rather poorly staffed. It's early, as you may realize. We're being followed by some new people, just so you know."

Harry didn't answer and followed Croaker around at that constant swift pace, glancing around himself nervously – two stairs down, Harry first noticed that a few wizards or witches were shadowing them. Croaker had apparently already noticed. "The Press."

Taking Harry aside in a side-hallway at the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Croaker suddenly took Harry by the shoulder. "Showtime," he whispered. Before Harry could really react, the faux-Scrimgeour pulled off his cowl, and started whispering, though what he was reciting seemed mere nonsense. After a moment, Harry realized he was reciting something in Latin.

There was a subtle click towards his right, and Harry forced himself not to react – he nodded at Scrimgeour at what seemed appropriate times, and a slight smile appeared on the borrowed face. More clicks resounded to his right, and Harry was almost certain that he heard a slight buzzing – Rita Skeeter in her animagus form, no doubt.

Harry, meanwhile, was thinking back to the books he'd found back at Privet Drive. He could've sworn there was Latin in at least a few of them, and he tried to recall a specific phrase that had stood out to him. The concentrated look on his face probably made his act more convincing too. Finally, he remembered.

"Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito." _Y__ou should not give in to evils, but proceed ever more boldly against them._ Harry said as Croaker trailed off, smirking slightly as Croaker raised an eyebrow.

"Quite right, mister Potter. Not enough people know the classics these days. I do believe it is time we get you to the Department of Mysteries. Come along, now." Croaker put up his cowl again, casting a suspicious look around as someone scuffled off.

"That went well," Croaker admitted as the two once again marched off down the next set of stairs. "There were at least two reporters, but as far as I can tell there's none now. How did you know about Skeeter, by the way? I noticed you tensing at her buzzing around."

"Found out at Hogwarts back in Fourth Year," Harry admitted with a shrug. "It's been useful in getting her off my back."

"I believe we've done all that we need to do – I should take you to your new workplace." Croaker said, smiling. "The Unspeakables will want to talk to you, I'm sure – they're rather excited about all this."

Harry nodded, before freezing. They? Why on earth would an unspeakable talk about his own group in the third person – unless...

With a twirl Harry had his wand out and aimed straight at Croaker's face, who immediately back away, drawing his own wand. "What in the blazes?"

"Who are you?" Harry said with as much authority as he could muster. "What have you done with Croaker?"

A few tense moments later, the wizard at his wand finally relaxed and chuckled. "Oh, very good, mister Potter. I wouldn't have thought you'd figure it out at all, to be honest."

"You'd better have a good explanation," Harry said, his wand steady. "I should've known better with Polyjuice Potion involved."

The man in Scrimgeour's guise smiled, putting his wand in his pocket and holding up empty hands. "Now, now – there's no need to be so volatile. I merely wished to see your natural reactions, thus the deception."

"Who are you?" Harry asked again, eyes narrowing.

"Haven't you guessed yet? I'm Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic. The Polyjuice was a mere ruse." The wizard smiled as he retrieved a small bottle from his robes. "This is merely firewhiskey – a pick-me-up for a dreary day. I'm afraid that Unspeakable Croaker is presently at the Department of Mysteries – and has been ever since we left the office."

Harry lowered his wand warily. "So the Minister for Magic of the entire country has actually been playing tour guide. All the way from Hogwarts. What's the point?"

"I arranged the deception with Aeron's – Unspeakable Croaker's – help. I assure you that there was no foul play involved at all. I merely requested the opportunity to observe you as you naturally are, without the annoyance of people trying to pander to my every wish. I do believe that it worked – you believed I was merely a lower-level employee and had no problem criticizing the administration."

Harry gulped, thinking back on several conversations with Moody and what he thought was Croaker as they were descending from the upper floors – he'd not been all that positive about the Ministry.

"Not to worry, mister Potter. If you recall, I do prefer a no-nonsense approach rather than people with velvet tongues, like the last Minister. I must admit to agreeing with you on Cornelius' character flaws."

"So you've been tricking me," Harry finally said, glaring. "There was really no need – I'm hardly the type to be all that respectful just because someone has a lot of power or money."

"Really?" Scrimgeour said, amused. "Do tell."

"I smashed up Professor Dumbledore's office. Twice now, actually. Second time I had permission, though." Harry said, bemused. "You probably know full well that Fudge and I didn't get on, let alone the Malfoys."

Scrimgeour smiled good-naturedly but didn't respond. Finally, he spoke again. "I do hope you have some respect for my position, even if I will probably not reprimand you for speaking your mind. Now, there was an actual reason for my tour – I do really have to deliver you to the Department of Mysteries."

"Is the Department of Mysteries going to be full of these kinds of pointless mind games?" Harry asked, before remembering the obliviators. "Never mind, I bet it is."

Scrimgeour didn't disagree as he moved on in that half-sprint, Harry once again bringing up the rear.

* * *

"Sir, sir!"

The tall witch in Unspeakable robes charged into the Chamber of Thought, evading several floating items with nimble movements.

Unspeakable Mirrikh was busy disentangling a particularly reluctant string of thoughts and wasn't aware of the excitable arrival until he was almost bowled over.

"Unspeakable Demetrion, what is the meaning of this?" Mirrikh exclaimed, quickly banishing the cerebellum back into its tank. "You know full well that this room is dangerous if one is not careful. You could've been attacked! What could possibly be so urgent?"

Demetrion managed to get her bearings and proceeded to drag Mirrkh along by his robe – he had little choice but to follow. "Sir, you told me I should get you when there was any anomaly with the Veil. If you're quick, you can see it for yourself."

Annoyance forgotten, Mirrikh lifted up his robe and quickly made his way past several colleagues – one of them looked rather peeved about the disturbance – and straight into the Chamber with many names. It contained the oldest artefact in this Ministry building – an ancient stone archway, crumbling with age, with a thin and ethereal veil fluttering softly below it, though there was no breeze. Except it wasn't fluttering now – it was flapping violently, jerking back and forth.

"What -" Mirrikh asked, but Demetrion cut him off.

"There's only been a few reports of this behaviour – most of it not recent. We think it might have something to do with certain powerful wizards approaching it, but we've not really been able to narrow it down."

"Powerful wizards?" Mirrikh wondered, narrowing his eyes. "This is the same thing reported back when Mugwump Dumbledore visited, isn't it?"

Mirrikh nodded in confirmation. "Reportedly Albus Dumbledore makes the veil respond like this, though only in recent years – he's been here in his youth and there were no reports then. There were a wizard or two from an old family back in the 1800's, but I believe that line is now extinct – they made it flap like this as well. There is some rumour that Gellert Grindelwald made it react, though as far as the registry goes, he never entered the Department at all."

"I'm assuming Dumbledore's not due for a meeting?" Mirrikh wondered, fingering his beard. "It seems unlikely, for the veil to react so very strongly to specific wizards. There's no necromancers around, right?"

Demetrion scoffed. "There's two or three, but they've never gotten much more than a twitch out of the veil. Perhaps if they got to use some of those bells of theirs in here, but as you well know it's highly illegal to use experimental magic without authorization."

"The Minister's not dumb enough to sign off on necromancers doing much of anything experimental, I'm sure." Mirrikh mused, smirking. "Last time they got around to some experimenting, a whole cemetery went and walked into town. The obliviators were in fits for a month."

"Anything peculiar on the roster today?" Demetrion wondered, fiddling with her robe – unlike her colleague, it was an elegant green dress robe, entirely against the Unspeakable dress code. She was one of the few that could get away with it, being a mere guest of the ministry rather than an employee.

"Yes," Mirrikh admitted. "We've got Harry Potter coming in later for a tour. He's supposed to join the Department. I have my suspicions that he'll mysteriously vanish to parts unknown within a few months. You know the drill. Besides, he was here last year and the veil didn't react in any significant way."

"He's what, fifteen, sixteen?" Demetrion asked with a frown. "Didn't know you were hiring schoolchildren these days. What's he going to do, transfigure bunnies into hats?"

Mirrikh looked around briefly, but most of the wizards in the room were writing down observations of the trembling archway. "I understand the boy's apparently a Seer. Got his first vision just a few weeks ago, too."

"A Seer?" Demetrion replied, perplexed. "How about that, a male Seer. How long's it been since there was one of those?"

"Tactile rather than visual, from what I understand," continued Mirrikh, "The Custodians want to meet him. Besides that there's recommendations from a couple of Departments – Temporal, even."

"Temporal? Yeah, that guy will be gone within the month." Demetrion said with a small smile. "I hardly think they'll have him stick around here with us flunkies if he's got that kind of potential."

The veil continued fluttering madly, but there appeared to be no further change to it. Mirrikh quickly said his goodbyes to his colleague and moved towards the exit, in the direction of the entrance hall.

The moment he stepped into the large round room with many doors, he was jolted awake rudely – Rufus Scrimgeour walked in confidently from the visitor's entrance – trailing behind the imposing man was a shortish dark-haired youth with brilliant green eyes.

"Mister Potter, I'd like you to meet Operative Mirrikh, supervisor of the London branch of the Department of Mysteries – and your new boss. Mirrikh, I'm here to deliver your newest acquisition. I do hope you take good care of him."

Harry wanted to greet the man in front of him, tried to get himself to lift his hand – but he couldn't. The moment he walked into the hall and saw the man approaching a terrible feeling had gripped him – he felt like he was frozen to the floor. Though he didn't know quite how he knew, he realized he'd have to tell the man something. Images and understanding flickered in his head. Was this divination? Seeing?

"_Wife and child met the venomous snake."_ Harry ground out, finally, in a strangely gravelly tone completely different from his usual. He'd not quite known why those words seemed most appropriate. Harry coolly noted that we was thinking in an oddly disjointed manner, but ignored it.

Scrimgeour and Mirrikh both gave him incredulous stares after the apparent non-sequitur. Harry suddenly realized what it must be like for Trelawney, on the few occasions she actually said something prescient.

"Are you feeling all right, mister Potter?" Scrimgeour asked nervously. Harry hadn't looked away from Mirrikh for a second – now he glared at Scrimgeour.

Harry finally managed to speak again, still feeling sick and cold and stuck to the floor – his thought sluggish and confusing._"Vision. Your family's in danger. Poison."_

Mirrikh paled and vanished on the spot with a sharp crack. Harry finally felt the coldness drop away and shuddered, emotion suddenly rushing back in and sending his teeth chattering. He turned to Scrimgeour. The Minister, it seemed, was rather confused.

"Not sure if Croaker told you already, but there's some people here that think I'm a Seer." Harry admitted nervously, "I'm starting to think they might be right."

Scrimgeour didn't answer.

* * *

**Author's Note :** Several references to other media featuring magic /wizards here, including names:

Demetrion is a reference to the classic DnD setting _Mystara_.

Mirrikh is a reference to the arabic name for the planet Mars.

Proudfoot and Williamson are both from Canon Harry Potter (as is Arnold Peasegood).

Meryn is a reference to Ser Meryn Trant from _A Song of Ice and Fire._

The Latin phrase comes from Virgil's _Aeneid_.


	6. Acclimation : Among Friends

**Chapter 6 : Among Friends**

Albus Dumbledore was having a particularly harrowing morning; it had been mere hours since Harry Potter had left the school but his unusual absence at breakfast had set the Gryffindor table into a speculative frenzy. There had already been several letters, too – Most probably from the press who had already noticed the young man at the Ministry building and were fishing for information. Dumbledore was quite sure that before the day was out, someone would know what was going on – the Hogwarts grapevine was rather well-tended.

"Albus, do you know anything about this?" Minerva McGonagall asked, taking a sip from her pumpkin juice. "I was in the tower earlier and Potter's bed didn't seem to have even been used."

Dumbledore turned to his long-time friend, beaming. Due to the absence of several professors this morning, he was sharing the head table with McGonagall and Snape to his right and nobody to his left. "There's nothing to worry about, Minerva. There was some discretion in Mr. Potter's activities these last few days for a good reason – a reason that I imagine will no longer exist tomorrow."

"I noticed you having him up in your office for days on end." McGonagall said with a sniff. "I imagine you've been cooking up a new plan for the boy?"

"I'm afraid that Mr. Potter is no longer a student at Hogwarts," Dumbledore admitted with an apologetic smile. "He has left earlier today."

"The rumours are _true_? He's left Hogwarts?" Minerva said, too loudly. Dumbledore winced, as he noted several Gryffindor students staring at their transfiguration teacher. Snape, sitting to her immediate right waved his wand and a soft buzzing sound permeated the air.

"He was offered a rather prestigious job in Rufus' new ministry," Dumbledore continued softly, nodding thankfully at the Potions Master, "Severus and I have been in contact over that and – other developments. It was intentionally kept silent to avoid the press."

"At sixteen?" Minerva said with a frown. "Are you sure that's wise, Albus? Mr. Potter is not exactly politically knowledgeable. Besides that, he's only partially trained and he needs his NEWTs to pursue his chosen profession."

"Auror, if I recall," Dumbledore answered idly, looking over his glasses. "I believe you will find Mr. Potter will have little trouble making the transition to the Aurors from his current position – he is to start in the Department of Mysteries."

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore with wide eyes. "The Unspeakables?"

"I assure you, it's quite safe," Dumbledore said airily. "You might not know it, but I have had dealings with the Department before. I was given a tour of the London branch, once, even. I am quite convinced that young Harry will find a suitable place there."

"Albus!" McGonagall said with a glare. "You know full well that with the Death Eaters out there, Mr. Potter could very well use more protection than even Hogwarts could give. The Ministry's not half as well warded."

"Indeed," Dumbledore conceded with a shrug. "You will find, however, that since the unfortunate events of several months ago, security in the Department of Mysteries is back to a level it hasn't had since the forties. Polyuice nor Glamours work effectively in the lower levels now – something we cannot claim for Hogwarts, even. Besides that, the Ministry has some of its most powerful wizards and aurors in permanent employ of the Unspeakables."

"The Dark Lord will not attack the Ministry, Minerva." Snape said in a barely audible whisper. "He is aware of the new security and without the prophecy, his most important reason for wanting in has been removed. I am unsure how the presence of Potter will affect his decisions."

"In time, I am sure that Tom will again attack the Department," Dumbledore admitted. "The same could be said for Hogwarts, were Harry here. I very much doubt that he would be deterred by anything short of a Fidelius charm."

"You'll leave him in the Ministry where you know he might be attacked?" McGonagall asked, appalled. "He'll be well out of your reach should anything happen!"

"I assure you there are certain benefits to being me that I could make use of," Dumbledore said, eyeing the Gryffindor table that had stopped trying to decipher what the head table was discussing. Snape's muffling spell seemed rather effective. "Besides that, Mr. Potter will be learning apparition and other important techniques in his first weeks at the Ministry, allowing him to more readily respond to Death Eater threats on his own. He's quite resourceful, as you well know."

"You know something." Snape said angrily, glaring balefully.

"I know many things," Dumbledore said lightly, noting suddenly the absence of a second person that morning – Draco Malfoy. "I do believe I have something important to see to. I assure you, Severus, we will discuss this matter at length."

McGonagall, irate at being out of the loop, suddenly realized something important and managed to grab Dumbledore's purple star-spangled robe. "Albus! Where am I going to get a new Seeker?"

* * *

"Greetings, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore said amicably as he finally tracked down Draco to a seventh floor hallway. The boy was sitting against the wall under the painting of Barnabas the Barmy and was holding a letter in his hand – unfinished and smudged.

"Headmaster." Malfoy intoned, glancing up guiltily. "I knew you'd show up eventually."

"I was merely curious as to your absence at the breakfast table." Dumbledore said. "I assure you that I do not believe you were engaged in mischief – though that is something that should be engaged in from time to time, surely."

Malfoy didn't answer for a time, then finally sighed and stood up, wiping his sleeves as if they were dusty. "If you must know, I intended to write a letter and I was not inclined to do it where certain people could see it."

"Certain people?" Dumbledore said bemusedly. "You distrust your house mates?"

"I was writing to your golden boy Potter," Malfoy said, waving his letter. "I imagine I'd get quite a few stares for that alone."

"I was under the impression you and Mr. Potter were on rather unfriendly terms," Dumbledore said, casually conjuring a comfortable chair and lowering himself into it. "In fact, I recall the two of you have a history of verbal and physical altercations."

"Well, yes." Malfoy said, shrugging. "We've been on opposite ends of most everything for ages, and that's been a bit of a trouble between us. It's just that we have come to a sort of, er, unofficial arrangement of late."

"You and Mr. Potter? I wouldn't have thought it possible." Dumbledore said, smiling. "I do enjoy the end of a childhood rivalry at times, though."

"This stays between us, right?" Malfoy asked nervously, scanning the hallways for other people (though most were most likely still at breakfast.)

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. To be entirely honest, I had thought your opinion of Mr. Potter did not greatly differ from your opinion of myself. Remarkable."

"I..." Malfoy started, hesitating. "I have an agreement with Potter regarding the safety of Professor Snape."

Now Dumbledore was really perplexed, and he blinked several times. "I very much doubt that either of you has much to do with Severus' safety."

"I've been spying on him," Malfoy admitted, fidgeting. "My Father requested it of me before he was captured. Potter caught me at it. He knew... things."

"He knew things?" Dumbledore said, curiously. "Anything you wish to share?"

"It was like he knew what I was thinking, but it wasn't Legilimency." Malfoy said, glancing up apologetically. "Professor Snape taught me and a few others the basics of Occlumency, a few years back. I can sense someone doing the reading."

"He had information about you that could be used as blackmail, and he used it?" Dumbledore mused, concerned.

"Blackmail? No, he didn't attempt to coerce me. He just knew that I was looking for a way out of the whole mess, and he had one. I'm not sure why I trusted him, but he seemed really sure of himself and I hardly think a Gryffindor is that good at lying."

Dumbledore suddenly relaxed, smiling slightly. "Curious. I imagine I can ask Severus about this?"

Malfoy nodded slightly. "I have already spoken to Professor Snape. Potter convinced me not to share what I knew about his treachery, and we've sort of agreed to let it be."

"You are aware of Severus' true loyalties, then." Dumbledore concluded, eyes gleaming. "Yet you were convinced by your nemesis not to report it to Voldemort?"

Malfoy flinched. "Yes. Whatever you might think, I'm not a slave to the Dark Lord. I don't believe even Father really wishes to remain a Death Eater, but he presently has no way out. He's in Azkaban now, of course."

"Your father has never been very shy about using Unforgivable Curses or attacking muggleborns." Dumbledore said knowingly. "Regardless of his true loyalties, he is in prison now for legitimate reasons."

"I would rather avoid getting allied with the opposition," Malfoy finally said, sadly. "Being seen as an ally to Potter would make me a target – I'd be considered a traitor, certainly – and it would also put Mother at risk."

"You are well aware that you cannot go into Voldemort's presence as you are," Dumbledore said, relieved. "He is a far more powerful Legilimens than you have encountered – except perhaps myself, but I am not inclined to use it – and would read your doubt immediately. The very fact that you conspired with the Boy-Who-Lived would most likely get you killed."

Malfoy paled, thinking about it. "The Dark Lord has been at the Manor a few times already. I can't go back there – he could show up at any moment and my life would be forfeit."

"You will be as safe at Hogwarts as most anywhere," Dumbledore said softly. "I will look into possibilities for using the Fidelius charm on your manor – it would keep your mother safe and secure."

"That would be … agreeable." Malfoy answered, grimacing. "I suppose that you're right – there's not really a neutrality to be had here. You're either with the Dark Lord or against him. Still, an ally to Potter – that I would fall so low."

"Young Mr. Potter, as I am sure you are well aware, is now the youngest Unspeakable in about a century." Dumbledore said with a smile. "Besides that, he has considerable political influence due to his status as a celebrity. You could go far with such allies."

"Youngest Unspeakable in a century? I figured he'd go and top that youngest Seeker record."

"I do believe that the last youngest Unspeakable – technically associate – is standing before you now." Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "I believe I am allowed to be put out about it as much as you are."

"You worked with the Unspeakables? Mrs. Burbidge didn't mention it, I'm sure she would have." Malfoy said, confused.

"Oh, I don't actually remember it," Dumbledore waved off. "I was young and reckless and the obliviators were busy for days. Somewhere along the way I mysteriously forgot what happened, as did everyone else." He winked conspiratorially.

"Maybe I can arrange an obliviator to alter Potter's memories for me," Malfoy said with a thin smile. "I'm sure he'd enjoy remembering losing all his quidditch matches."

Dumbledore chuckled lightly as he vanished his chair and moved back towards the central hallway and staircases. "I believe you should head to your classes, Mr. Malfoy. I do believe we will speak again."

Dumbledore had much to think about.

* * *

The pony-tailed Auror twirled his wand absent-mindedly, staring off into the sky. He and Proudfoot were getting ready for a long-distance portkey and entirely nervous – this would be his first long trip. Proudfoot seemed quite confident in comparison, fingering the thin red rope that had been turned into an international portkey.

"Don't be a pansy, Williamson." Alastor Moody announced from the corner of the balcony. The large blue-tiled squarish area was one of several standard apparition locations for specific use by Aurors – Two more were higher up, and were barely visible from this level. There were cushioning spells all around to bounce back any poor navigators. All were outside to decrease the chances of accidental splinching. All of the apparition locations were also used for official portkey use.

"I understand we're going to the state of Washington? Not particularly far." Proudfoot said matter-of-factly. "I've been to New Zealand once – that's about the furthest you could potentially portkey, unless you make one that has multiple stops. You shouldn't worry."

"We're going to be whipped halfway around the world!" Williamson said, agitated. "The furthest I've even apparated is about a hundred miles. I'm nervous about splinching over vast distances like this. Can't you get that?"

"It's a portkey, mate. No splinching." Moody said with a shrug. "This isn't your first mission without a higher-up along, Williamson. Don't act like a bloody child."

Williamson didn't react, but he nervously looked at the cuckoo clock that was hanging on the wall – it wasn't really keeping the time, merely counting down the seconds to the next portkey activation. Fifteen seconds. He held his hand tight around the rope portkey, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prepare himself for the trip.

"I'll hear from you in a week." Moody said as he walked off, grinning. With a loud yelp Williamson and Proudfoot were whisked away in a kaleidoscope of colours – it'd take them several minute to arrive, by which time both would most likely need some cleaning charms.

"You shouldn't abuse his fears, Mad-Eye." Scrimgeour said, as he walked out onto the balcony. "It's cruel."

"He shouldn't have any fears that he can't conquer. He's a bloody Auror." Moody said aggressively. "He's been here for a decade, he should be beyond this. I feared portkeys when I started but I got over that pretty quickly."

"You know full well that very few Aurors meet all your requirements, Alastor. You do it by design. If the average Auror were to be better, I imagine your standard would go up. By the way, a little respect might go a long way. I know you taught me most of what I know, but I outrank you now."

"I'll treat you like I bloody well please, Rufus. What're you doing up here, anyway? Looking out for the newbies?" Moody asked, eye rolling wildly. "Figured you'd still be leading Potter around with your trickery."

"He actually figured me out before we arrived at the lower levels," Scrimgeour said softly. "Thought I was someone else using Polyjuice. I think he figured it out from a slip of my tongue."

"He's learned a thing or two from my time with 'im, I imagine." Moody said.

"I am aware of your activities with Dumbledore's vigilante group," Scrimgeour confirmed. "If you were actually employed here, I'd have to fire you. As it is – glad to see the boy's got good teachers."

"You must also be aware I was never the boy's teacher, then." Moody answered gruffly, rubbing his leg. "I was stuck in a trunk for most of the year. I use it for a bedroom now."

"I was referring to your past summer." Scrimgeour noted, smirking at Moody's surprise. "I'm well-informed, don't be so surprised."

"I'd love to know your sources," Moody said gruffly. "I didn't even notice a bloody spy."

"That is the point."

"So, have you come to upset an ex-employee or do you actually have something to tell me?" Moody questioned, as several wizards apparated in and quickly passed the two by.

"I had the most fascinating experience down in the Department of Mysteries." Scrimgeour said. "Figured you are closest to the young man involved. Mr. Potter uttered the most interesting thing when he entered. I believe he actually went and had a prescient moment right there."

"Prescient moment? You mean one of those visions of his? I figured that was mostly gone, now." Moody mused. "Occlumency training's good enough to beat it, I thought."

"This didn't match up with tactile forecasting, as far as I'm aware." Scrimgeour answered. "In fact, it had much more similarities with genuine visual predictions – except he recalls it. He was able to interpret immediately after it happened without anyone filling him in on the details."

"Are you telling me the boy's an honest-to-Merlin Oracle? I thought that was only for women?"

"There's been male Oracles before," Scrimgeour said, shrugging. "The term is mostly obsolete because the common meaning of Seer encompasses it well enough. The uncanny thing is the fact that actual Oracles throughout history show the ability their entire life – it first appears in very early childhood and would be exceedingly obvious. Of course, Mr. Potter's childhood was not typical."

"What'd he predict?"

"A Death Eater attack." Scrimgeour said. "Seems to have been activated by seeing Head Unspeakable Mirrikh – the moment the two met he went and told him that someone would be attacking his family and that they'd be poisoned. Mirrikh apparated home immediately."

"I take it that Potter was correct?"

"Three Death-Eaters were trying to break through the wards when he arrived. There was a large snake present as well. The snake in question is reportedly Lord Voldemort's familiar. All the alerting wards were out and the floo was disabled – and Mrs. Mirrikh doesn't have an apparition license."

"She probably can't apparate with a passenger," Moody realized. "The kid would've been caught for sure."

"Correct – In fact, she relies on her husband for apparating. Mr. Potter saved at least one life with his warning. Without intent, most probably. I'm suspicious."

"Suspicious? I imagine I can see that. It'd be a rather obvious way to ingratiate himself with his superiors. I don't think there's anyone less likely to actually work for Voldie, though."

"Voldie? So delightfully disturbing, your penchant for nicknaming You-Know-Who." Scrimgeour chuckled. "No, I can't imagine that Potter would cross that line. I'd have my suspicions about his allegiance to Dumbledore, but even that wizard wouldn't be so very blunt. Either Mr. Potter's incredibly lucky about his gifts – or he's got a destiny around here."

"If he's an actual Oracle..." Moody offered tersely, "They're bloody fickle. He might well have visions at opportune time without even realizing it – we've got little knowledge of where the precognition comes from, after all."

"Considering the Temporal Division is also interested, I'm thinking we're going to see a lot more crazy things."

"I have no doubt about that," Moody agreed, rubbing his nose – or what was left of it. "The boy's got promise. He'd make a good Auror."

"From you, that's quite high praise, Alastor. I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

"Hermione, have you noticed anything odd about Luna, lately?" Ginny asked as she flopped down on the Gryffindor-red couch. The common room was quite empty at the moment – it was just after noon and most were off elsewhere in the castle or on the grounds.

"Hmm?" Hermione said, looking up from a particularly big tome on the theory behind transfiguration – currently she was reading an essay on the merits of transfiguration for means of disguise. "Luna being odd seems to be like saying water is wet, Ginny."

"I meant more weird than usual," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Ever since that whole deal with Harry's job, she's been fuzzy and confused about it."

"It's Luna, Ginny. I don't really notice the difference in how weird she is from minute to minute."

Ginny sighed, stretching. "I just figured we should show a little concern – I'm thinking maybe she's a bit upset about Harry leaving and doesn't really know how to deal with that."

"Y'think she likes Harry, uh, that way?" Hermione asked, eyes shining. "Competition for you?"

"Harry's not really seemed interested in either of us," Ginny admitted. "If any of the three of us caught his interest, he hasn't really shown it. I mean, everyone can see Ron going googly-eyed over you..."

Hermione's face reddened to an astonishing degree. Ginny giggled immediately.

"Oh, that's priceless!" Ginny said, smirking. "Have you done anything yet?"

"Ginny!" Hermione said, scandalized.

"C'mon Hermione, we both know that Ron's a pillock when it comes to being romantic, but he's hardly subtle about his interest in you. Harry's never done anything like that for me..."

"I've seen Dean watching you, though." Hermione reminded the little Weasley.

"I'm not really interested in Dean." Ginny said, shrugging. "Besides, have you noticed that Seamus of all people's been after Dean for a while?"

"Seamus?" Hermione asked with a gasp. "Really? I'd never have thought..."

"Eh, he seems to be an equal-opportunity type." Ginny said, walking over to the window. "I wonder if Harry's ever going to find someone. I mean, out in the Ministry he'll be one of the youngest around. He won't run into us much outside the holidays..."

"You're afraid he'll run off with some girl ten years his senior?" Hermione asked teasingly.

"I doubt it," Ginny admitted. "I'm just sorry that he is so far out of my league. I had a crush for the longest time – then he went and saved my life – and now he's off somewhere probably tackling dragons and hunting down dark wizards. Meeting other girls too, I suppose."

"Are you sure you -had- a crush, Ginny?" Hermione wondered smartly, but Ginny didn't answer.

"Where's Ron?" Ginny finally asked. "Haven't seen him the whole morning."

"He's been at the Quidditch pitch."

"What's he doing out there then? I don't think there's any training going on..."

"He's dealing with Harry leaving, I imagine," Hermione said. "I mean, Harry will be back for the weekend so he's not that distant, but I think he feels like he lost his best friend. He's probably working through that with a beater workout or something similar. Smacking around some bludgers at images of Malfoy, I imagine."

"I figured he'd take it the hardest," Ginny said. "I mean, I've been in his little group for only a short time – Ron's his oldest friend, I think. All the way before sorting, even."

"Ron's going to get through it. He's had his jealousy phase already, he's not going to go through it again. Remember fourth year?"

"Maybe we should go and cheer him on." Ginny mused. "He'd probably like to be reminded that the rest of us are still here."

"I should find myself a proper robe." Hermione mused, getting a wide grin from Ginny.

* * *

"Mister Potter?"

Harry shot up from his chair – he'd been in the waiting room for near an hour, waiting for Head Unspeakable Mirrikh to make another appearance – he would've already gotten the tour but understandably the tour guide was arranging safe housing for his family.

Harry had been going over his prescient experience in the entrance hall while he was waiting – the experience was quite different from the visions he'd received during the summer, and had gone straight through his Occlumency as if it wasn't even there. Unlike the other times, there'd been images and ideas to it – not merely pain. Still, there was something odd going on.

It had felt as if he were being controlled – Imperius curse, maybe, but not nearly as comfortable – and it had been somewhat unpleasant. The cold detached feeling he got prevented him from reacting to the whole event until after it was over – he'd been ruthlessly rational throughout the message.

That was not any divination he'd ever heard of.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting," said Head Unspeakable Mirrikh, looking decidedly ruffled. "I brought my wife and child to St. Mungo's. They're not hurt but they were both rather frightened by the attack."

"So it did happen, then." Harry said, sighing. "I suppose it's true, then. I've officially matched Trelawney's teaching credentials."

"It seems there's quite a bit more to you than even the Custodians figured, Mr. Potter," Mirrikh continued. "Spontaneous visions of the kind you evidently had are exceedingly rare. Being unusual hardly seems to be something you're unused to, though."

"Yeah, I've had my share of firsts already. I don't really plan on adding any new ones but I don't think I've got much of a choice in the matter."

"If you'll follow me – I'm supposed to be directing you around the Department today, but you've gone and messed up my entire plan. I'm thankful, of course." Mirrikh fidgeted with his cloak, and pulled up the hood. "This would be the waiting room – one can't leave it without at least one Unspeakable accompanying the person, and calming spells prevent violence. It's sometimes used for temporary restraint of subjects as well."

"I figure you'll get around to telling me about what you're doing around here." Harry said amusedly as he crossed the threshold back into the entrance hall. "I remember this hall spinning last time."

"Ah yes, your illegal stroll in the Department. It was quite clever to mark the doors." Mirrikh walked steadfastly over to a door across from the one they'd just used. "All the doors are spelled to look the same to outsiders – you technically count. For employees, the various departments are easily distinguished by colouring of the door and signs."

"I imagine it's a well-kept mystery, how Unspeakables find their way?"

"You're getting into the spirit of things, I see," answered Mirrikh happily. "Security's been upgraded considerably since you were last here, so there's no chance any more of sneaking in unnoticed like you did before. Thankfully."

"Must've been quite a mess." Harry observed. "I think we broke half the Time Room in that fight. Not to mention all those prophecies."

"The prophecies, thankfully, were broken in the Prophecy room." Mirrikh said as he led Harry into a new chamber – largely empty and unused at present. "The prophecy chamber itself is spelled to retain the images of any prophecies broken so as to allow a replica to be made. As far as we are aware, only a single prophecy vanished that night because it was broken elsewhere."

Harry nodded uncomfortably, thinking back to the small sphere.

"Most of the stock of timeturners was broken by the battle in the Time Room – got a lot of people very upset, that – but ultimately we have large amounts of the things in storage so it wasn't as big a loss as it could've been."

"Hope we won't get charged for it." Harry said worriedly, as he looked at several large tarp-covered objects in the corners. "What's this room?"

"You've already been charged, Mr. Potter," Mirrikh said, "Not with money – that's not really an issue here – but with some other services."

"I don't remember anything like that," Harry began, before realizing. "Obliviation. Right."

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter – there's nothing you wouldn't do anyway. This room, incidentally, is currently not in use – it was previously nicknamed the Room of Void, but all research of nothingness has been relegated to an international consortium in Cleveland, Ohio. That's across the pond."

"So this room's up for rent?" Harry asked. "What's all this junk?"

"This room's intended to be the new centre for a small combat force," Mirrikh ventured. "Currently still in planning stages, but I figure it'll not be long in coming. Basically it'll be a small strike force trained specifically to battle relevant threats in today's society. Death Eaters, mostly."

"Don't normal Aurors do that anyway?" Harry wondered, as they passed by another large tarp-covered object that appeared to be a wooden horse of all things.

"Are you familiar with the distinction between muggle policemen and the SIS?"

"Ah." Harry said, understanding. "Moody told me about that. Aren't they foreign intelligence?"

"Indeed. Which will be one of the tasks of this group as well. Although Death Eater activity is presently limited to Great Britain, it is unlikely it will remain so isolated. Technically we can only deal with our own criminals, but British exports count."

"So the Ministry can just covertly move into another country if there's a dark wizard from Britain involved? That doesn't sound like something that those countries would enjoy."

"There's measures in place, I assure you." Mirrikh said, pointing him onwards. "I have no doubt you'll get involved with them and the normal Aurors in due time, so you can ask any questions then. I imagine you'll be pleased to know that Lord Voldemort is a viable target."

The two passed through a small poorly-lit hallway and into a very recognizable chamber – It was presently lit by several floating torches and was primarily filled with the eerily bobbing cerebellums of at least a dozen wizards.

"This would officially be called the Chamber of Thought – mostly people just call it the brain-room. These brains are from various wizards who donated their thinking organ upon their death – most of them are from historically relevant wizards who wished to leave some of their legacy behind. All of these brains aren't really sentient – they're no more so than a Dementor victim, since there's no soul – but they are somewhat responsive to stimuli."

"What do you do with them?" Harry asked, trying to keep his disgust from showing on his face – the brains were creepy and somewhat bouncy and several seemed to follow him as he walked past the tanks. Almost half were attached to some type of wire.

"They're mostly repositories of knowledge – the brain, if preserved in time, retains most of its earthly knowledge and memories, even if most personal details are quickly lost. Several famous alchemists and charms masters are represented here – their brains contain a great many spells that are not in any present-day textbooks, and which we are slowly winnowing out of them. When a brain's been completely catalogued, it is buried with the original owner, if possible."

"Whose is this?" Harry asked with fascinated horror. A smallish brain was floating upside down in its tank, weaving back and forth on long tendrils of what appeared to be flickering images.

"Tilly Toke, if I remember correctly. A curiosity, I believe – single-handedly fought off a dragon that was preying on muggles – got an Order of Merlin and everything. I imagine partial Goblin ancestry explains the size."

"Did anyone ever tell you this is creepy beyond belief?"

"All the time, Mr. Potter. Now, this brain here -" Mirrikh tapped the glass of one of the bigger tanks that was presently closed up with a grate. "This would be the one that was so unceremoniously ripped out of its tank by your friend."

The brain in question was floating lazily, its thought tendrils surrounding it on all sides. Occasionally, it twitched.

"It is the brain of Groggan Stump, a popular Minister for Magic from the nineteenth century. It has been rather erratic since the events of last year – all of our attempts at siphoning information have failed, and it is unusually reactive to anyone approaching. It's still under research what exactly happened – the brains are kept in tanks that are resistant to charms, so it seems unlikely that your friend could summon one with ease. The brain itself may have reacted to the presence of you and your friends as well."

"I'd rather not stick around here, if you don't mind," Harry said. Several wizards were looking at Harry with suspicion – they probably suspected he'd try to summon the brains like Ron had.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter – this won't be where you'll be working, at least for now."

"Thank Merlin for that." Harry muttered as he followed the Unspeakable out of the room.

The next room was bizarre – Harry didn't remember entering this last time around. In the centre of the room was a bright light – it was quite far away so Harry had a hard time making it out – the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. Harry blinked vigorously to get used to the lighting as Mirrikh confidently strode onwards.

"This is the Chamber of the Cosmos – well, one of them, in any case. You'll note that gravity doesn't quite work as normal, here, if you know the activation spell." With a flick of his wand the Head Unspeakable floated off the ground gracefully. "Doesn't work anywhere else, really – the room's enchanted especially for free movement. This is a scale model of the Solar system – bar a bit of the outer edge – and it contains replicas of all the various planets and moons in appropriate orbits. Though they can be nudged around, the various parts are regularly checked to match up with actual observations."

"You said this is just one of them?" Harry said, looking wonderingly at the small rocky ball that hung lazily in the air a few feet away. It was moving, if very slowly.

"This is just a solar system one. There's a big one submerged under the ocean – even with engorged spaces like these you need at least some room – and there's one in Switzerland that's positively humongous. They're representing the galaxy and known universe respectively – at increasingly tinier scale, of course. I don't think you can actually find the sun in the Switzerland model without great magnification."

Harry walked over to where Mirrikh was floating, and could make out a largish brown circle in the distance. The floor was smooth and glossy black, reflecting the star-spangled roof in great detail. Harry was relieved that the floor, at least, was not going to send him sprawling to the floor with obstacles in his path. "Can you teach me that floating thing?"

"I suppose you don't do silent casting yet? Right. It's merely a swish with the word 'Float'. I'm not sure if it'd work with the word spoken aloud given that it's supposed to be a silent casting, but I imagine saying the word will also make you think of it.

Harry nodded, but he couldn't really see much in front of his face – Mirrikh probably had better night-eyes. He concentrated on the word Cosmos and with a start he realized he was floating upwards.

"That was easy," Harry said, as he righted himself. Mirrikh, meanwhile, merely stared.

"You managed to cast it silently? Didn't figure you could pull that off without any training- where's your wand?"

"Ah, it's... here in my pocket." Harry said, fishing it out. For a moment neither spoke.

"Well, Mr. Potter... you just managed what took me three months – a wandless, wordless spell. Congratulations. Now work on not needing a gesture and you'll be impressing quite a few people around here."

"Dumbledore's already told me I can do a bit of wandless magic," Harry said, twirling the holly wand in his fingers. "I think he's convinced that I'll pass him by someday. Can't imagine that happening – did you ever hear about the duel he and Voldemort had here in the atrium?"

"You'll need plenty of training to get that done – though I don't imagine silent or wandless casting of minor spells will be much of a problem for you if you keep this up. You remind me of Nymphadora – she's a young Auror who also picks up things incredibly quickly."

"I know Tonks," Harry said, smiling. "I should send her a mail, see if I beat her record."

"You've not even joined the Department yet, officially. I imagine you did." Mirrikh replied dryly. "In any case – this room might be one you visit again, so remember where it is. Also, you might want to read up on your astronomy – it's relatively easy to get lost among some of the minor planetoids and the like particularly here on the outer edge. If you are totally lost, you can always head for the sun in the centre there, though I would advise you not to actually touch it. It's not as hot as the real thing, but warm enough. Also, the area around Earth is entirely off limits for a number of reasons – some people are thinking there's sympathetic reactions there."

"What's that?"

"It's got something to do with the way the Earth model was constructed. It's one that makes sure its accurate at all times, you see. Except, occasionally, we've seen some strange reactions when fiddling with the model and we've put it out of use for the time being. In short : someone poked a volcano in the Indian Ocean. Krakatoa."

* * *

Lord Voldemort took his place at the lengthy table with care, keeping his eye at all times on his host. Wormtail, meanwhile, scurried around looking for a bottle of elvish wine that had been requested, and vanished into a hallway. They were in the beautiful Malfoy Manor, looking out over an expansive garden in which several peacocks scurried.

Bellatrix Lestrange's high-pitched laugh could be heard from far away; she'd found the sleeping room for the house-elves and was busily entertaining herself with the panicked servants. There were several Death Eaters that had taken up residence here since their escape from the allegedly infallible prison.

"Lucius..." Voldemort hissed, his red eyes shining balefully. "You are trembling. Are you cold, perhaps? Surely the terrors of the island have not turned you senseless?"

Lucius Malfoy shivered violently, his fingers jerked randomly, his eyes darting back and forth wildly. Among those smuggled out of Azkaban, he was the most affected by the Dementors, and seemed incapable of getting himself under control like the others.

"Lucius, I am displeased with your weakness. What do you fear so very much that the Dementors would have such a fine meal in you? Look at me." Voldemort demanded. "Look at me!"

Lucius, trembling as he was, managed to force himself to meet his Master's eyes. Almost immediately he cried out in pain as the Dark Lord's Legilimency slammed into him – he stumbled back into his chair.

"Your son..." Voldemort said, wonderingly. "Such pride about your kin, Lucius! I wouldn't have thought you capable of such compassion."

"Is he... all right?" Lucius said roughly, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Is Draco... safe?"

"Draco remains at Hogwarts, where Severus will take good care of him, I'm sure. Dumbledore is not likely to act upon mere suspicions, and your son has established his position on Harry Potter rather well. He is unlikely to have problems with the other children of my servants, or any of the old man's forces." Voldemort said shrugging lightly.

"Of course, my Lord."

"I expect Draco will join you by my side before the year is out – I believe his education at Dumbledore's place is getting to an end. He could be of much use to us, I am certain."

Lucius shuddered, but he didn't reply. It was lucky that the thought he'd just had was not read from his mind.

"My Lord?" Wormtail suddenly spoke up, coming in from the hallway. "There is a letter."

Voldemort snatched the rolled up note from Peter Pettigrew's silvery replacement hand; there was an indignant squawk from the tall and proud owl that was perched on the man's shoulder. "Leave."

"My Lord," Pettigrew said as he nervously backed out into the hall. Lucius, meanwhile, had managed to stop his shaking somewhat, knowing that Draco was, at least, healthy. He'd had many dreams of horrible things happening to his son. Filthy Dementors.

"It seems, Lucius, that Wormtail may have relayed an accurate rumour, for once. This missive notes the appearance of Harry Potter – with Rufus Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour was apparently disguised as a Ministry worker but was recognized by a journalist." Voldemort sniffed loudly. "It seems the Minister is trying to boost his own popularity – he would not 'accidentally' lose a disguise."

"A ploy for re-election?" Lucius tried.

"No... He's only recently been elected after all, he does not require that quite yet. No, I'd say it is likely that Scrimgeour is looking for a sympathetic vote by the Wizengamot – about what, I don't know. Possibly the legalization of unforgivable curses, as was done before I became – indisposed."

"Why would Potter work for the Ministry?" Lucius asked hesitantly. "Fudge was never much of an ally of Dumbledore's and Potter's always gone along with that."

"Scrimgeour might not be Dumbledore's man, but he is a capable Auror and likely to work with Dumbledore rather than against him. I believe that Dumbledore initiated the contact and that some arrangement was made – perhaps Potter will receive advanced schooling in return for his public alliance with the Minister." Voldemort deliberated for a moment. "It is imperative that we have new spies in the Ministry – if Potter is going to work there, I will require frequent information on his whereabouts. It is likely that he will be more open to attack than under Dumbledore's nose."

"Of course, my Lord. Might I suggest using what contacts I have left?"

"If you can trust them. I am well aware of the fickle allegiances of so many. Make certain that they're informed not to approach the boy – he'll likely have minders that might notice the attention. As soon as they're certain of the boy's work-location, place an eavesdropping charm."

Lucius bowed deeply, almost grovelling. "Immediately."

Voldemort eyed the letter again, going over the elegantly formulated lines. "Oh, Mr. Potter – what a foolish mistake you have made. So very predictable."

* * *

"This would be the Room of Time – as you can see, it's currently being renovated."

The room Harry and Head Unspeakable Mirrikh entered was littered with debris – it looked barely any better than it'd had when he had last seen it. Broken timeturners were all over the floor and a large bell-glass was upturned over a shattered table.

"I'm afraid that there's specific people for repairing these things – nobody else's even allowed to touch anything. Lots of ways to kill yourself."

"Where are the people that work here, then? It's been months..."

"I think it's more a question of when. There's a representative here at the moment, but he's not gotten around to assessing the damage yet. This was mostly a small repository for use rather than actual research, you see."

"Time travel. Figures. This is just going to get more confusing, isn't it?" Harry groaned. "It was worse enough in Third Year."

"I read that report. Dumbledore was completely insane to even allow it." Mirrikh grimaced. "You will find that regulation here is much more strict than you might be used to. Any variation of the timeturner is strictly controlled in use – this includes the publicly known ones and those that may or may not exist. I must be completely clear : get authorization for _everything_."

"I suppose there's a book about all these rules and such?"

"It's in your room – as we agreed, you've got a room right besides the Auror quarters – if they're too loud, make sure to put some imperturbable charms on the walls. There's a few uniforms there too – They will fit themselves to your size the first time you put them on."

"It's still really weird being here... I mean, it's only been a few days. Feels like a whole other world."

"You're in the Department of Mysteries – what did you expect?" Mirrikh said with a smirk. "You'll find that your colleagues are considerably weirder than what you'd run into at Hogwarts. We've got Necromancers, Half-Veelas, a couple Type 2 Vampires, and even a few goblins. And that's just the mundane employees."

"Type 2?" Harry wondered. He didn't think he'd ever actually met a vampire, though he could recall writing an essay on the topic. "There's types?"

"Quite a few, actually." Mirrikh said. "They've got common names but the filing system uses a numerical classification system. Same for some other species, for that matter. They're basically variant strains of the same magical illness, and vampirism is just the general term for all of them." Mirrikh stroked his beard thoughtfully, pondering. "There's Nosferatu ones – ugly critters, those. One of the oldest known strains, as far as I'm aware – Type 1. Type 2 would be the most common type – sophisticated and picky, and forming their own societies. Mostly don't kill for their sustenance. There's a couple variations that can survive on animal blood as well, and one or two that are insane by their very nature. We only employ a couple of types here – Type 2's tend to be the most interested in research jobs, and they're currently the only ones here."

"No risk of being bitten?"

"There's always a risk with vampires around, but you'll probably not be too bothered by it even if one of them does get to you. They're bound by oath not to harm other employees." Mirrikh said with a shrug.

"You wouldn't count being bitten by a vampire as harmful?"

"They don't teach you much in Hogwarts these days, do you? I heard Defence teaching was abysmal..."

"We learned about vampires a few years back. Pretty sure they were talking about the crazy killer kind, though." Harry admitted. "A few people thought our Potions teacher was a vampire, actually."

Mirrikh shook his head in amusement. "To answer your question : vampire bites can be harmful, but that's not a requirement. You'll find that some types of vampires have willing thralls – that is, human subjects – that voluntarily provide sustenance. It is commonly noted that Type 2's bites are rather stimulating for both parties involved."

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that. "Ah."

"Ah, indeed. As you well know, human bodies are quite capable of replenishing their blood supply – any one vampire living normally would only require two or three thralls to keep up their diet. There's also blood that's delivered elsewhere – voluntarily – for those too skittish to allow the vampire direct access to their veins. We have enough volunteers to sustain almost the entire Type 2 population of Britain."

"How did we get on the topic of blood giving again?" Harry wondered, while Mirrikh chuckled. Harry's blush wasn't going away any time soon, though.

You might not want to enter this room," Mirrikh warned, waving at a familiar-looking door as the two reached the end of yet another one of the many confusing hallways in this place. Harry was quite certain what he'd find behind it.

"The Veil room." Harry said sadly.

"Correct. The veil sets people on edge – it's mostly studied by necromancers nowadays after a string of suicides through the veil made it imperative to keep multiple people in the room at all times. After the first mutual suicide, it was decided only experts are allowed for extended periods. If you wish to skip..."

Harry ignored Mirrikh as he forced himself to push open the door. The tall and wide archway remained as imposing as it was before, even if its desolate nature was offset somewhat by several wizards in bright cheerfully coloured robes. The veil that hung beneath the archway was flapping wildly as if there was a strong wind.

"Those robes are to give the room a little colour. We've found that the veil tends to make everyone see things in grey, and the robes help stave off the demoralizing effect." Mirrikh explained. Harry gazed at the softly fluttering veil that hung in the archway, whispers escaping from just beyond hearing. It was quite a lot louder than he remembered.

"Do you hear them?" Harry wondered out loud. Mirrikh got a wistful smile on his face.

"There's very few people here that can't hear them, Mr. Potter. You must realize that the whispers seem to be something breaking through of whatever's beyond the gate. Most people believe it is death."

"You're not sure?" Harry wondered, glancing sideways. "I've read a few bits about it – allegedly it's a one-way passage to the afterlife."

"That is what it's traditionally considered to be, yes. It's been here for as long as the Ministry has been – nobody dared move it from its position and most of the Ministry was built around and on top of it. It was once used as a method of euthanasia for the world-weary, and later as a means of execution – it's from that time that the amphitheatre stems. Over fifteen hundred years ago – well before even Hogwarts was established."

"Is it used for anything now?"

"Only research. It's not one-of-a-kind, if you're wondering. As far as we're currently aware, four have been found. They're each similar in design but different in detail. The current behaviour – wild activity – is as far as we are aware relatively unique – there's not yet a good explanation."

"May I... approach?" Harry asked nervously, gripping his wand. He didn't quite know why he needed to see where Sirius had died – he just felt a duty to at least face up to it.

At the Unspeakable's reluctant nod Harry shuffled forward, joining the half dozen brightly-clad wizards that were carrying around bells of all things and were all equipped with notepads. The veil began flapping more wildly and several stood up in response.

"Am I...?" Harry asked, but he got no answer. Mirrikh was standing rooted to the floor, looking rather unwell. Harry stepped a little closer, and the veil reacted violently – it lashed out and one wizard was barely capable of evading the deadly veil – Harry stumbled back quickly and the veil calmed down to its former state. "I suppose I am."

"Curious." Mirrikh said, seemingly recovered. "For a moment there I thought you were going to walk straight into the thing. I was going to pull you back but I couldn't get myself moving! Best we leave the room – Now!"

Harry and Mirrikh quickly made their way out of the room – all of the Unspeakables in their yellow and red and green robes were looking after them, while others were furiously writing.

"Another confusing data point." Mirrikh murmured, as the two walked into the adjacent hallway and walked straight into a large museum-like area filled with precious objects.

"What was that about?" Harry demanded; Mirrikh sighed.

"The Veil has been known to react to some people with – volatile power. Your Headmaster is one of them. As far as we know it's not magical power that's triggering it, but something unrelated – we're still trying to figure it out."

"It didn't do that the last time I was near it," Harry pointed out. "I mean, We were all there – and a bunch of Death Eaters – and as far as I'm aware, it was even calmer than it was when we first entered."

"I don't believe it's anything necessarily special about you that's triggering it," Mirrikh allowed. "We're talking a veil older than British magery itself – who knows what sets it off? It might well react to some obscure combination of past events that you and Dumbledore share. Whatever happened to trigger this behaviour must've been recent."

"You don't suppose it's Sirius trying to come back?" Harry asked incredulously. "I mean, he fell through it..."

"Sirius Black, the criminal? Right, he was innocent or something along those lines, right? I remember that. You probably don't, though," the Unspeakable smiled slightly. "It was on your birthday, if I recall, that we discussed it. You were rather friendly with me, that day."

"I hate obliviators." Harry murmured, rubbing his head. "Never can know if you've already met someone or if they're your best friends that someone carelessly lifted straight out of your head."

"You'll be glad to know that all official obliviation within the Department of Mysteries is done on a tentative basis – generally speaking you will remember relevant details unless they're harmful, and it is possible to lock away memories at one's convenience should one ever be captured and interrogated. It's all in your manual."

Harry looked around the expansive hall they were now in - it was probably the most fascinating hall thus far, since it was stuffed to the top with all sorts of items and artefacts, most of them with actual labels. The closest was a peculiar red ring on a bed of satin, encased in a glass box.

"Ah, that." Mirrikh said uncomfortably. "That's what's considered a cursed ring. It's been used a few times - I'm afraid none of those using it returned intact. It appears to be a particularly powerful focus for apparition - it allows cross-ward passage, in any case - but it does seem to be rather flawed, It's more or less indestructible so after each use it turned up a decade or two later, somewhere on the other side of the planet. Usually in a blackened crater with the remains of a body still attached."

Harry gulped as he studied the beautiful ring with a small snake biting its own tail in the center, making a figure 8 on its side - the symbol for infinity. "These are all cursed items?"

"It's not actually cursed - the charm is simply flawed. It's being kept for study since it's one of the only known objects that can force apparition straight through even the strongest known magical barriers. It's just... lethal when it does so."

"Bit of a drawback there." Harry muttered dryly.

"Yes, well, this is why we do research." Mirrikh grimaced slighly as he walked past the ring. "There's plenty of interesting things here - most of them are well protected though, so I wouldn't try nabbing any of these. Even if you could get your hand on something, Aurors would be here within seconds."

"I'm not stupid enough to commit suicide by putting on a cursed ring of all things." Harry muttered. "Is Hedwig in my room? I want to write a letter or two, tell them what I can."

"Sure, sure. About that... I was to deliver these to you." Mirrikh handed over two official-looking missives.

"The first, there, is an agreement. You'll have to write it with a drop of blood – Read it first, of course. It's mostly secrecy stuff. It's rather binding, I'm afraid – but that's to be expected."

"I figured I was over this with Umbridge," Harry muttered.

"The other one is an invitation from the Custodians of the Hall of Prophecy. I don't believe you have to be a Seer to know why."

"Tomorrow, I imagine?"

"Of course. I believe you will start in the Cosmos Room – you've already got the floating figured out, after all – and we'll shuffle you around after that to find a good spot for you. It'll just be for getting used to the work and the people." Mirrikh explained.

"Am I allowed to explore?"

"As long as you stay out of the obvious places – I'd not get too near that veil again, or the broken timeturners – of course. I'm sure you'll meet some of your colleagues as well. I'll be found in my office, which should be easily found after you sign that first letter, there."

"I suppose you could point me to my room, then – I'll have to get settled in."

* * *

Ron lowered himself slowly to the pitch, Ginny right beside him. Hermione, of course, had passed on actually going any height with a broom, though she was hovering a few feet above the ground.

"Do you feel better, now?" Ginny asked, smiling, holding on to the two bludgers beneath her arms which were squirming to get out.

"Much. I didn't know you had me all figured out." Ron said, blushing.

"Don't look at me," Ginny said with a smirk, jumping off her broom and heading off to lock up the bludgers.

"I thought you could use some company," Hermione said as she slowly dared rising to Ron's level.

"Thanks, Hermione. I suppose I need to focus a bit on other things. Harry was a bit in the middle of my life, I suppose."

"Probably you could use a bit of a time-out." Hermione said, smiling. "Maybe now you can do some of your own thinking for a change."

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, laughing.

Albus Dumbledore was looking on from his tall tower, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. Things might just be turning out for the best. A small white owl swooped by the window, a small brown envelope tied in its claws.

"Change always comes bearing gifts." the old wizard mumbled, smiling.

* * *

**Author's Note :** Several references, as usual.

Dumbledore's last quote is from Prince Pritchett.

'Voldie' is a reference to the popular shortening of Voldemort's name in various fanfics.

There's a minor reference to Necromancers from another fantasy series - it should ring a bell. ;)

Yes, that was a jab at Dumbledore for putting on the Gaunt Ring, the shortsighted idiot. The Ring in question is an Obvious Item of Interest. You'll find that the Department of Mysteries actually has someone who takes care of these items - Angus McGuffin. ;)


	7. Acclimation : The Department, Part 1

**Chapter 7 : The Department (Part One)**

_Magical Oaths _

Traditionally speaking, oaths are either statements of fact or a sworn promise calling upon something or someone that the oath maker considers important, such as a family member, or a specific organization. The person or entity sworn to serves as a witness to the binding nature of the promise or the truth of the statement of fact. Since at least the fourth century B.C.E. Magical oaths have been sworn to many objects or statements, usually by using some physical medium to determine punishment when the oath is broken. All oath breaking is sensed by both parties involved, except for the mildest, thus allowing the aggrieved to do as he wishes in response to the slight.

{...}

Wood oaths are among the most ancient known type of magical oath, sworn upon the wood of a living tree, and when broken they force upon the oath breaker three-hour long paralysis. Wood oaths are relatively rare due to the relative ease with which a secondary party can reverse paralysis, as the effect is subject to the _Finite Incantatem_ spell.

Bone oaths are a second ancient method of oath swearing; they are sworn upon human or animal bones, usually a skull or femur. When broken such an oath subjects the oath breaker to ossification of several voluntary muscles, thus making them almost incapable of free movement for an indeterminate amount of time; usually hospital treatment is required if antidotes are not at hand. Bone oaths are common among those working with dragons due to the effectiveness of the use of dragon bone in the oath.

Verbal Oaths are the most common type of oath and are sworn upon breath; oath breakers are subjected to extreme feelings of asphyxiation, generally leading to unconsciousness. Verbal oaths are one of several types of oaths sworn on in court, though use on minors is strictly regulated due to relative higher risk of complications. (Note 1964, London, Minister vs. Unknown Male) Unlike many other oaths, the entity sworn to does not receive any warning that the oath has been broken, thus making it impractical for widespread use. (The reason for this is currently being researched by the Dutch Ministry of Magic.)

{...}

Blood Oaths are considered the most dangerous and powerful magical oaths; they are sworn upon the freshly spilled blood of the person swearing the oath. Swearing such an oath generally requires the person to swear to life, magic or both, thus resulting in the person's swift oath upon breaking it. Blood oaths are strictly illegal outside specific government-mandated uses, and are classified as Dark Magic in most circumstances.

From '_Unspeakable Primer_' Selected Passages, _P. 133,134,137._

* * *

Harry stretched languidly on his new bed – it was considerably larger than any he'd ever had before and wonderfully soft. Of course, with his only previous experiences being a cupboard, a small cot in the smallest bedroom and an old school bed, he didn't have much to compare with. Still, it was comfortable.

He'd made his way to his new room – several stairs up and a considerable way down the halls – and found that it was already awaiting him. His trunk was in the corner, containing all of his precious belongings – his father's invisibility cloak, the photo album Hagrid had given him, his Weasley family sweaters, neatly folded. In fact, Harry noticed several things he distinctly remembered losing – an old pen that had slipped between the cracks of his room, a box of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes that had been stuck below the loose plank, several joke items. Whoever went to fetch them from the Dursleys did a thorough job of taking everything; Harry suspected it had been Moody, who could see it all straight through the floor.

The most surprising, then, was the massive – and entirely filled - bookcase on one side of his room; besides half a dozen volumes that Harry had been incapable of removing from the shelf – they were apparently enchanted – there was the full collection of books that he'd found back at Privet Drive, neatly arranged by topic, including several he didn't recognize but unmistakably had Lily Evans' signature jotted down in the front. Each of them also had the letters 'L.E.' on their cover in red ink. There were quite a few books there as well that he recognized as schoolbooks and gifts from Hermione that he hadn't gotten to.

It turned out that there was one book about magic that had his mother's signature – if the date of publication was anything to go by, it had been a book she'd bought in third or fourth year at Hogwarts. It merely said 'Awl Grimoire' and was largely written in runes; Harry couldn't make heads or tails from it. The few pages in English spoke about intricate potions, and judging by the pictures much the same could be said about the rest of the book.

Harry sighed contentedly as he got up from his bed, looking around his new room. It was roomy and coloured with yellowish and red hints, making it feel much like the Gryffindor dormitories. Indeed, the doorknobs were clearly the head of a lion and on one side of the room hung a painting of a knight in shining armour parading around excitedly, a flag with the roaring lion clearly visible.

"So, where is that manual, then?" Harry wondered out loud, and one of the books – well, it wiggled, he could've sworn. Harry calmly repeated his words. "Where is the manual."

This time, Harry knew he'd seen it move, and he quickly snatched it from the shelf before it could tremble itself free – Merlin forbid it was another Monster book of Monsters. As he removed the Unspeakable Primer from the shelf, though, a small booklet slipped from besides it and dropped to the floor with a distinctly oddly harsh thud.

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," Harry read from the cover; the little book looked ancient and its binding was stained and peeling in places. The title was written in embossed runic symbols as well as in English directly below it. The booklet didn't have his mother's name in it; instead, there was a loopy 'A. Dumbledore'.

Harry flipped through it, noting that there were various comments in the sidelines throughout; this was an old and used copy of the book; as far as he could tell, a collection of children's stories for wizards. A late birthday present?

Thinking back on his birthday, Harry sat up with a start. Dumbledore had given him a book on ministry regulations – at the time a bit absurd, but perhaps now more easily explained. He'd known already that the Ministry was after him for a job. What had he said again? Looking at a page that didn't exist?

Harry quickly stashed the little book of stories back into the bookcase as he picked out the large tome he'd received for his birthday. It went to page 805, and Harry was pretty sure it'd been the same the last time he looked. Whatever Dumbledore meant, it wasn't as easy as this. The book itself was filled with page after page of tiny print noting all the various rules that Ministry personnel needed to adhere to. The Unspeakable section, amusingly, noted that the rules in this book were optional in some cases. Harry couldn't think of many reasons why an Unspeakable would request leniency on the rule that one shouldn't consume fellow employees while in the Ministry building.

Harry spend a bit of time flipping through is Unspeakable Primer – thankfully it was written in plain English and regularly referred to court cases that were actually described in another section of the book, so he didn't need to head to the library ever few minutes – and finally decided to do a brief series of exercises he'd done with Moody to improve his mental defences.

He spent half an hour doing occlumency exercises, and felt pretty good – they were relaxing even if they weren't terrible effective at keeping out the latest bout of annoying visions. It was time to get going, he decided, standing up from his 'Lotus' position, as Moody had called it. With a quick wave of his wand Harry locked the door of his room behind him as he walked off back to the stairs – there were still many hours of daylight to burn and he'd be hard-pressed to spend them on his bed. Under his arm was his brand-new copy of the Unspeakable Primer; hidden inside were the letters he's received.

* * *

Minster Rufus Scrimgeour walked briskly through his office, Percy Weasley close behind. The office, overly large as it was, seemed oddly cluttered now, with many boxes filled with articles stacked haphazardly around the large desk. There was an unusual amount of paperwork today, and that was nothing compared to the number of owls that had been delivering owls since earlier that day; dozens and dozens of them.

"Minister, is something wrong?"

Scrimgeour turned slightly, but didn't answer his aide.

"Sir?"

"Weasley, you may have noticed that I am thinking. Kindly leave me to it. I have enough to worry about without you pestering me on top of it. Have you seen this administrative mess?"

"Yes, sir." Percy answered nervously, "Do you wish me to do anything about Operative Mustang? You keep telling me you'll get to it, but you don't. I could go through these files, if you wish."

"Could you arrange a spontaneous drizzle instead? Inside?"

"Of course, but I hardly see how it would help matters," Percy answered, missing the sarcasm. "I take it you're not too fond of having Mustang in the Ministry?" Percy inquired.

"The Ministry's getting too bloody crowded with nutters, if you ask me," Scrimgeour grumbled in response. "Fellows from the future, retired aurors with twitchy reflexes, clairvoyant school kids and now a blasted walking flame-thrower."

"I am not under the impression he actually throws fire around," Percy responded with a frown. "Technically he's a Pyrokinetic, in any case. He's generally avoided immolating things."

"Who would ever intentionally learn such a pointlessly violent magical discipline, I ask you?" Scrimgeour ground out. "We can barely keep him in here without some heat-absorbing spells, lest he turns my office into a pile of ashes, as you well know. I can't imagine he's much easier to be around when he's actually casting."

"He's almost never here, Minister – I hardly think it's a big issue."

Scrimgeour sighed – it was true that the operative hadn't made it back to the building since before Fudge's departure. "Fair enough – it's just blasted annoying to have this on top of everything else. I feel like this week will never end. All I need is a Goblin uprising and Death Eaters and I'll have the full set."

"I don't believe you have any immediate appointments for the next few hours," Percy said. "You could take a nap. Maybe get your mind off things, a bit."

"No, I'll go find this Mustang fellow and make sure he's on his way as soon as possible." Scrimgeour sighed as he straightened his jacket, which was rather ruffled around the edges. "If there's any calls, you can send an owl to fetch me – I'll probably be somewhere in the building in any case. Knowing my day, the unpleasant parts."

"Of course, sir."

Scrimgeour strode out of his office, limping slightly. Ever since he'd been mauled so many years ago, the wound had never quite recovered; of course, that's what you get when you're dealing with Dark Wizards. Thankfully, it was merely painful to use the leg, not impossible, allowing him to maintain almost the level of combat agility as before. Alastor Moody, of course, outmatched him; that man could compensate for missing bits of his body like none other, even if he wasn't as spry any more.

The Pyromancer wasn't the only problem weighing heavily on the Minister's mind; he thought briefly of the new employee at the Department of Mysteries (who would undoubtedly make tomorrow's headlines), an agent from the relative future sent back for a significant event that could not be described to maintain the time line, and Dumbledore. Unlike Fudge, the relationship between him and the old headmaster of Hogwarts had always been amicable, but recent information about the vigilante organization known as the Order of the Phoenix was worrying.

On the one hand, Scrimgeour couldn't expect anything else from the veteran fighter of the Dark Arts; it was not likely that Dumbledore would let his age get in the way of doing what he thought was right. On the other hand, the organization was a wild card that was for all intents and purposes not under any governmental control. Worse, it was kept secret and as a consequence there was relatively little that Scrimgeour could do to interact, favourably or otherwise, with any of its members.

Of course, there was always the option of sending in an infiltrator from the Unspeakables; they were quite capable of doing the job. The problem with this plan was that Dumbledore had uncanny intuition and would sense that something was wrong very quickly; the chance would likely not repeat itself. There was really only one Unspeakable employee who knew the people well enough – but he was not experienced enough for such missions yet. It was doubtful that he'd even do it.

Scrimgeour passed by a small Obliviator squad heading upwards and nodded in greeting as he made it to the sixth floor; the Pyromancer would probably be holed up in usual corner all the way downstairs in the basement.

Scrimgeour walked on, puzzling out a strategy, mumbling under his breath. A small rat tailed him closely, one of its paws curiously silver.

* * *

Harry spent much of the afternoon looking on in wonder at the going-ons in the Department; nobody had even acknowledged him much, and it didn't appear as if anyone was terribly inclined to hide what they were doing. It was surprisingly open for a Department that was known for its secrecy.

Of course, Harry had figured out rather quickly that he wasn't really on his own. A blue-cloaked wizard had been trailing behind since he left his room – not an Auror certainly, as those had been good enough to stay undetected. Most probably it was an Obliviator that was tasked to prevent him from spreading what he knew already.

He'd spent most of the afternoon going between several lounge-like areas that were occupied by a number of Unspeakables squatting in corners, behind writing desks or leaning against the walls. Indeed, it didn't seem as if the Department had any standard on how an employee should do their job; just that they did it. Three or four Unspeakables he'd encountered were actually suspended from the ceiling, reading a book upside-down much like Luna Lovegood would. One was even squatting sideways on a wall – how he kept coordination Harry couldn't quite tell – the wizard in question didn't appear to be doing anything at all, given that his eyes were closed and his wand was on the floor, along with a book and several odds and ends that had probably escaped his pockets.

He's entered the prophecy chamber again – when he checked, he found that there was a small sign where his prophecy had once stood, noting its date of destruction. The rest seemed as he'd last remembered them; all neatly stacked back in rows. He read some of the names but a large number of them were already passed (there didn't seem to be any particular order to their storage, as Harry's was flanked by several about the 1800's.) The only name he recognized was Dumbledore's; the prophecy in question had apparently come true somewhere in the late 1800's.

Harry had finally set himself down near the edge of the Cosmos Department where he'd floated earlier, close enough to the door to get sufficient light, and began reading his manual. The book in question was rather big – if nowhere as huge as some back in his room – and contained mostly basics. Oaths and Vows were topics near the start – around the middle of the sizable section was a brief description of the blood magic used by Gringotts bank and the Unspeakable Vow that gave the Department Operatives their name, though it was only used for those involved in the highest level operations. It entire prevented a person from divulging information regarding the Department to anyone now intentionally permitted to. The book put it in the same category as the Unbreakable Vow; both were classified as dark magic, even if commonly used.

That was quite odd, actually; dark magic was described quite often, including ministry uses; it didn't even make moral arguments on why not to use them. It seemed that either the Ministry was a lot less goody-two-shoes than it liked to show – or the Department of Mysteries had a lot of leeway in how to apply the laws.

Along the way Harry noted that he'd been correct about etiquette; though it was expected for all employees to wear their official robes outside the Department or if there were announced guests, there was no uniform dress code otherwise, and working space was generally determined by the operatives themselves. Generally speaking, the book noted, this would be the room most appropriate for the topic – as all required tools would be at hand – or one of the general purpose rooms – no doubt the lounges Harry had seen earlier.

Skimming the rest of the book – he'd doubtless get back to it later – Harry noted an emphasis on what to do on outside missions for the Ministry; interaction with other Departments, extensive collections of court cases that were important if the Unspeakable were to be requested as a representative before the Wizengamot, and even a register of relevant contacts within the Ministry. With some shock Harry found that he himself was listed; it merely stated 'Future Employee', though.

"As good a time as any, it's not like I'm going to back down now." Harry muttered as he pulled out the letter he'd received earlier. It was short and to the point; don't share secrets unless people are already informed, forced prevention of accidentally spilling controlled information, obliviation only on request, and so on. After a moment Harry realized that the text was moving; as he read a line it slowly moved upwards and was replaced by a new one. With an exasperated sigh Harry read through the letter as it kept moving; there were quite a few clauses to take into account. Apparently he was to agree not to keep pet cross-breed animals on the premises nor to use Avada Kedavra to get rid of pesky animals. He briefly marvelled at what could've inspired such bizarre regulations. Finally, he used the provided quill to sign the letter, wincing as he thought back on Umbridge. He had to concentrate to write out his name instead of '_I must not tell lies.'_

Harry blinked as he noticed that the book he'd used to smooth out his letter had changed; where before had been his name and 'Future Employee', now there was his full name, a small picture – a Hogwarts photo from last year given the robes – and 'Unassigned Employee, Temp.'

"I'm a Temp, eh?" Harry said, putting away his letter and book. "Figures they'd forget to tell me that till I signed."

"Talking to yourself isn't terribly healthy, you know,"

Harry whirled around, his wand in hand before he'd really thought about it. Floating several feet away in the black expanse of the chamber beyond was a blond-haired woman in a black Unspeakable robe.

"You must be the new recruit," she said, landing softly with a flourish of her wand. "Welcome to the Department, I suppose."

"Just signed, actually," Harry answered, sticking out his hand. "Harry Potter."

"I know who you are, Mr. Potter," she said with a smirk, shaking his hand. "Jocelyn Burbidge, from Scotland. I heard quite a bit about you from my nephew."

"Nephew?"

"Technically he's once or twice removed, I can never remember. Draco Malfoy. I'm part of his extended family, if you will. Pureblood, of course."

"I don't really care about that," Harry admitted, earning himself a glare. "That is to say, Malfoy and I never really got along back at Hogwarts. Can't imagine he told you many good things about me."

Burbidge scoffed. "He hates you with a passion, yet he can't stop telling me the most fantastical stories about what you've been up to. Tell me, did you really arrange for last year's defence teacher to be captured by centaurs?"

"That was my friend Hermione, actually," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his head. "Didn't know she had such a mean streak, actually, until then. I figure that whoever gets Hermione mad should probably look out."

"And fighting a basilisk with a sword in the legendary Chamber of Secrets?" Burbidge said, sceptically.

"Oh, that was actually me, yes." Harry said sheepishly. "Don't know how Malfoy found out the details, though. It's not very well-known."

"You fought a basilisk with a sword." she repeated dryly.

"Yes, actually. Back in my second year. It was living under the school." Harry responded with a shrug. "Bloody large thing, too. Almost killed me in the end there, but I had a phoenix around. Wouldn't advise trying it."

Burbidge snorted. "You get into an awful lot of trouble, I take it. Is that the most impressive thing you've done so far?"

"I figure defeating Voldemort a bunch of times is up there too. Driving off a hundred Dementors, too." Harry said shortly, shrugging. "I also managed to get away with smashing up Dumbledore's office, once."

"Certainly a deed to be remembered along with defeating You-know-who." Burbidge answered with a smirk - she had flinched at Voldemort's name. "I've got a colleague around here who's been telling me tales as well – I don't believe most of them. Indeed, you'd probably not believe most of them either."

While Harry tried to puzzle that one out, Burbidge drifted off the floor again. "I don't really have time to chat, at the moment. I'll be at dinner, later – if you'll come, maybe you'll meet some of our more eccentric guests. Most employees eat at home, so what stays behind is the real die-hards."

"I don't really have anywhere else to get food," Harry admitted. "I technically live upstairs, for now. The Minister arranged one of the rooms adjacent to the Aurors."

"Not too noisy, I hope?"

"Eh, can't be worse than what I'm used to," Harry admitted. Sleeping with snoring Ron for several years should have prepared him for anything.

"I'll see you at dinner, then. Maybe you should float around a bit here, if you know the spell. There's a colleague or two around Jupiter. If you find a wand, make sure to take it with you; there's been one missing for months now, and the magic doesn't stand out in this room."

Harry nodded as Burbidge floated off. She was, Harry figured, surprisingly civil for a cousin of Malfoy's.

"Afternoon," Harry said as he slowly drifted over to Jupiter, the largest planet in this model; it was indeed, rather huge even now. "Miss Burbidge thought I should visit you,"

"New kid, eh? Name's William Lassell, but most around here just call me Will. Except Burbidge, of course. She likes rubbing my last name in my face," the main grimaced. "Bloody bigot."

"Hated because you're a Muggleborn, I take it?"

"Half-blood," Lassell admitted. "You're lucky enough to have a pureblood father, she'll probably leave you alone. Consistency hasn't been her strong suit."

"I met her, earlier. I didn't think petty bigotry like that was allowed around here," Harry said, as he made to sit himself down on the large white-yellowish moon that was nearby. Lassell stuck out a hand, though.

"It is, it's the Department of Mysteries, after all. We are instructed not to get violent and the like, but discussing sensitive issues is sort of common and encouraged. We've got plenty on both sides. As for that moon – it's currently being monitored rather extensively, so we're not allowed to touch it for fear of messing something up with the spells."

"Is that the blue glow?" Harry wondered, squinting. "Didn't notice it, just now."

"Indeed. Actually, it's a spell that's searching for evidence of life." Lassell admitted. "Muggles think there might be something down there, and we have a much better chance of finding it."

"It's only a model, though." Harry said, frowning.

"It's rather more." Lassell said, with a smirk. "Though none of these 'models' as you say are as advanced as those of Earth, they're nevertheless accurate representations of the worlds they depict. As such research on these worlds will reflect real-world conditions. With enough time, we'll figure out if there's something down there – and if there is, the next step is going there for real."

"Muggles are already doing that, though." Harry said, thinking back to shows he'd seen on television. "I know that they've walked on the moon and I'm quite confident there's a whole bunch of unmanned machines with cameras."

"Half-blood here, you know. I'm up to date on what Muggles are doing." Lassell answered. "Though we haven't actually started yet, there's all sorts of long-term plans for getting wizards into space. Problem is, we don't really know if it's possible."

"Why not? If muggles can do it..."

"Naturally, but Muggles don't have to take into account a rather important aspect that wizards do have – magic. We have no idea if it'd even work away from the Earth. Many sources claim magic has its source in the Earth – someone leaving it might well turn into a squib on the way up."

"You could experiment, I suppose," Harry said, "I could think of a few people that could do without their magic."

"Even we're not that cruel, Potter." Lassell said. "They might suck out your soul or kill you, but I don't think anyone but the most depraved would rob people of their magic."

"So you've got standards, they're just silly ones," Harry joked. "Can't imagine anyone rather giving up their soul than magic. At least you can live with the latter gone."

"Not wizards and witches," Lassell said. "Most of them would die of shock within minutes. I don't think you realize how important it gets to our body, over time. There's a reason wizards get older than muggles, you know."

"Can't imagine space travel is a very popular topic among purebloods." Harry commented, trying to get away from the touchy topic. "I mean, you'd probably need to draw comparisons to muggles and the bigots would all turn red at even hearing that."

"Most of the support for the program is from muggleborn and half-blood wizards and witches, yes," Lassell admitted. "The Cosmos Chambers are currently the most advanced products to come out of this line of research – It all started back in the sixties. You can imagine quite a few muggleborns were rather inspired by the moon landings."

"Purebloods try to cut the funding, no doubt."

"Of course," Lassell answered immediately. "They'd rather pump their money into needlessly convoluted and unpopular issues. Mostly they want to invest in things like preparing for an eventual goblin uprising – despite our good relations with the Goblin Nation these days. Politics too, of course. Can't forget politics."

"Figures," Harry responded. "Seems they've got enough to get me on the team, though. I saw my salary on the letter earlier – not bad."

"Ah, you've signed? An official welcome to the Department, then." Lassell said, grinning. "I'm your local conspiracy theorist, I'm told. Burbidge never believes a word I'm saying though – such a pity."

"I've been part of actual conspiracies before," Harry said, smirking "I've also got a friend whose father seems to revel in it."

"Probably shouldn't hang out with me too much, lest people think I'm infecting you with my scary stories about Site 17," Lassell answered. "Just so you know, by the way – technically, Burbidge is your boss. She's everybody's boss, pretty much. The whole Department."

"Really?" Harry blinked. "She didn't mention anything like that."

"She doesn't advertise it. It's sort of a tradition to keep the new guy in the dark, actually – so don't act like I told you too much. You'll meet most of the higher-ups before you know their positions."

Harry turned to his book, but nothing of Burbidge's high position was mentioned.

"Book won't help you with that. We're thorough." Lassell said, turning to Jupiter. "Now, big boy, let's see what your insides are made of..."

Harry didn't get a response to his goodbye – he floated lazily away from the large planet, as if swimming through the air. It was quite relaxing, actually. He found himself going a long way upwards – after a while, he realized that the room must be gargantuan to allow it. His light charms didn't even reach any of the edges, though.

"Fine," Harry muttered, casting the Supersensory charm that Ron had found in one of his books. With a sudden rush Harry felt his eyes and ears tingle; the room suddenly came into full view.

Gargantuan was an understatement. Even with a charm like this, which highly increased the acuity of the senses – the room was too large to see all the way to the other end. Harry saw the ceiling far above – he'd not even reached a fifth of the height – and to Harry's surprise it also dropped off just inside the orbit of Uranus, with a huge spherical hole centred under the massive sun, which was flickering with strange protuberances launching from its glowing surface.

The noise, in turn, was remarkable; Harry could hear the planets moving very slowly through the air of the room, something undoubtedly missing in space; a low rumble or hum, perhaps generated by the sun itself spinning. On top of that was his own heartbeat, thudding swiftly. Several voices were too muffled to make out clearly – the rest were no more than murmurs.

Floating to the nearest wall – which took minutes – he found that the entire wall was covered in bouncing charms; it wasn't actually possible to crash into them since you'd just be bounced back into the room's interior.

It didn't take long from there for Harry to come to a conclusion. Oliver Wood would faint if he knew this existed.

Harry took off with a victorious cry, quickly speeding up to match what his Firebolt was capable of, twirling in between planets and moons with astounding speed. Without a broom.

Lassell shook his head in mirth as Harry sped by at ludicrous speeds. "Ten galleons to you, Alastor," he murmured. He should never bet with the old Auror again. What had he been thinking, betting about how many days it'd take the boy to learn the chamber's levitation charms?

Lunch, it turned out, was a private affair ; only about a dozen people actually stayed at the Ministry at dinner, given that almost all were old enough to apparate freely and had families.

Burbidge was at the head of the longish table that was set up in one of the lounge areas, which was currently otherwise unoccupied. It was honestly rather overly large for the small gathering but at least it wasn't full of disembodied brains nor did it require the dodging of pesky asteroids. Lassell sat one chair over, with the rest occupied by people he didn't recognize, save for Mirrikh who had taken the other end of the table. Harry himself sat down somewhere in the middle, considering he had no idea what the usual arrangement was.

Directly to his left was a rather rugged-looking man with long hair and a rather messy goatee. Harry was immediately reminded of Remus Lupin, considering the man's shabby look, even with his pristine Unspeakable robes. Werewolf, no doubt. The two vampires across the table from him were equally easy to distinguish; one of them was apparently rather hungry as he couldn't keep his eyes off the necks of the people around him. To Harry's right sat – or rather, floated – a rather demure ghost that reminded him a little of Moaning Myrtle. Several Unspeakables he'd seen during his earlier rounds filled up the rest of the table; one of them wearing a rather noticeable golden necklace with a silver hourglass at the end of it.

"As you may have noticed," one of the vampires said softly – the other was gazing uncomfortably closely at Harry's throat, though Harry supposed it was better than gawking at his scar. "Harry Potter has joined the Department of Mysteries, per the Minister for Magic's request, as well as that of the Temporal Department."

Harry blinked, looking over to the man with the necklace, who had reacted. He was a rather nondescript fellow. Harry thought he looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place it.

"For the moment, Mr. Potter will receive basic introductions in each of our more significant Departments, as well as any minor ones that might become relevant." the vampire continued without a breath – Harry figured he probably didn't need it. "Mr. Potter is, as of today, officially classified as a Rank 2 priority due to high interest from violent criminals and highly prized talents that will be of great use to the Department."

"Rank 2?" Someone muttered to the side. "Isn't that the same as the Minister?"

"Indeed," the vampire answered. "As you well know, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort has made a reappearance of late, and he and his followers have an interest in extinguishing one of their greatest failures. The fact that Mr. Potter has survived several such attempts already will only make them more aggressive, I'm afraid."

"The new protection measures will keep out Death Eaters," the werewolf besides him protested.

"We cannot take significant risks here, as you well know, Rafe." the vampire noted. Harry felt rather out of the loop by now. "Mr. Potter is not just under higher protection due to his significant enemies. Earlier today the Minister and a Department Head reported the observation of possible Oracular gifts."

The ghost next to him gasped, and turned on the spot. "Really? A male oracle?"

Harry buried his head in his hands. "Everyone keeps telling me I'm some sort of Seer. I don't know, I didn't even like divination at Hogwarts."

"Having an Oracle around here would be helpful," said the werewolf, growling. "Apparently it's already saved the life of one or two people."

"Which I am very thankful for, again, Mr. Potter." Mirrikh said with a smile.

"I'm not clear on why we should keep such a high-profile person in the Department, though." The second vampire said, eyes hungry. With a pop, a glass filled with red fluid appeared – Harry detected a slight sweet scent suddenly in the air – and the vampire greedily gulped up some before continuing. "We can't really keep it a secret for long. It'd keep the obliviators busy constantly."

"It's not going to be a secret," Mirrikh said, just as Harry was going to answer. "Due to his popularity the Minister figured it was better to have the public know of his occupation, even if they don't know what he's actually doing here. Keeps up the morale and any future stunts – as Mr. Potter is rather fond of getting into them – will reflect positively on the Ministry as well.

"Plus you could hardly hide the disappearance of one of the most famous wizards in Britain," thee werewolf, Rafe, muttered. "I suppose we'll have a media circus, tomorrow?"

"Bet on it." Mirrikh said, nodding.

"So, boy, had a pleasant day at the Department so far?" One of the vampires asked, the other greedily suckling on his pint of blood. "I haven't seen you around our parts, but I understand you've been advised not to. I work in the room with the veil."

"I was there earlier, but there were just a few Necromancers there," Harry said, remembering the earlier visit. "The veil was acting oddly so I figured I wouldn't just enter again without permission."

"Since we know of the reaction by your presence we've put new security measures in place – you'd have been stopped well before you could pose a danger to our researchers." the vampire answered.

Finally, dinner appeared on the table, and Harry thought he noticed the pitter-patter of house-elf feet. It wasn't Hogwarts, but a wide variety of delicious dishes were available.

"I just realized how rude we're being." Rafe said sheepishly as he got himself a steaming cup of soup. "We haven't done introductions."

"Oh, how silly of us," the vampire answered, though he didn't seem surprised at the remark. Several people around the table snorted or sent Harry amused glances. Must be that don't-help-the-new-guy thing that Lassell had warned about.

"I'll start, if you wish," Harry said, forestalling any excuses by the vampire. "Harry Potter – formerly a student at Hogwarts. I suppose I work here now, though all it says on my page so far is that I'm a temp and unassigned."

"A temp? I didn't know..." The ghost asked airily. "Well, erm, I am – or should I say, was, technically – Charles Aleyn, poet in life. I spent most of my death studying the finer aspects of its finality."

"Rafe Phelan," said the rugged-looking man. "Werewolf, if you haven't noticed by now. I am fully stocked on Wolfsbane Potion, in case you were wondering."

"Ever met Remus Lupin?" Harry asked offhandedly, and Rafe sniffed.

"Yeah, I've met him. Never really got on, but he was a decent enough guy. I didn't really know he was a werewolf too till far more recently. We actually went to school together, y'know. I'll tell you about it later."

"Miss Demetrion," a young woman spoke from besides the werewolf. "I work at the veil. I don't have a formal first name, if you're wondering – I'm an aspirant Necromancer."

"It's a custom among the Necromancers to sacrifice part of one's name," Mirrikh explained. "They don't eat with us either – they've got their own oddities there as well. As Miss Demetrion is not yet initiated we're pleased to still welcome at our dinner table."

"Jocelyn Burbidge, I work in the Space Chamber," Burbidge said lightly. "Chamber of the Cosmos, whatever you wish to call it. The one you were rocketing around, earlier."

Mirrikh chuckled. "I figured you'd be quick on the uptake with that, given that you got the spell right on the first try."

"Don't need the gesture any more," Harry said dryly, shrugging. "It's pretty much like Quidditch but without the broomstick. Maybe we should set up a game in there sometime, use a couple of Saturn's moons as bludgers."

"Better not," Mirrikh said with a smirk. "Last time anyone tried that we ended up with Mimas. Nobody quite wants to try it again after that little débâcle."

"William Lassell, we've met," said the next, smiling slightly. "Space Chamber, obviously." He gestured over to his neighbours, the vampires.

"In life, I was known under quite a few names," The first vampire said next with some amusement. "I am not often in England – I spend most of my time in the middle-east. Usually someone stands in for me. I know a little of your struggle with fame, I assure you. You may know me as Avicenna."

"I'm his assistant," the second vampire noted, though he didn't divulge his name.

The introductions continued – several people who worked in the hall of prophecies, one who worked in the room of thought (apparently also the room where Avicenna spent his time) and a woman who was currently responsible for administrative duties. The man with the golden chain hadn't deigned to even give his name.

"You'll meet him soon enough," the werewolf whispered with a grin. "He's from temporal, he's got all the time in the world to wait."

"I don't even really know what that means. He's a time traveller or something?"

"Of course." the werewolf said. "He's here from the future. He probably knows quite a bit about what's going to go down in the future, but he's not really allowed to tell us, since the Unspeakable's contract doesn't permit it. It's departmental secrets we're not in on, you see? Only other Temporal Operatives can really tell each other what's going to go down."

"So they've got supercharged time turners, then?" Harry wondered, eyeing the necklace.

"No idea, really. They travel in time and they don't quite get things in the order we do. I've met the guy twice now, and the first time he spoke to me as if we'd already met. The second time, he acted as if we'd never met before. He's not the only one like that, either."

For a time, Harry merely ate what he would, absently noting the conversation that his neighbour the ghost was having with the woman from administration – poetry was the topic, as the ghost kept reciting things from memory, though he carried a few ethereal scrolls on a belt strapped around his see-through belly.

"What section do you work at?" Harry asked Rafe, curious.

"I'm sort of between positions, now," Rafe said. "I worked in the Time Room – that's why I ran into that fellow over there so often – and I'm supposed to work with the new Room they're building, but it's not done yet."

"Does 'that guy' have a name?"

"None that I've ever heard," Rafe answered with a shrug. "Burbidge probably knowns, but I doubt she'd divulge it. It's not allowed for fear of people leaking identities. No clue if it's his real face, either. Plenty of ways without Polyjuice."

"I didn't think wizard society would be much weirder than Hogwarts," Harry said with a smile. "Shows you what I know."

"Didn't think much could surprise you after having school lessons from a quarter-goblin, half-giant and centaur," Rafe said with a smirk. "I've got a nephew in second year, he keeps me up to date."

"I suppose. There's even a ghost." Harry added, glancing at his neighbour who was still chatting about the merits of poetry, though he'd partially passed into the chair he was occupying, his plate still empty of any food.

"You'll probably get used to it soon enough. Take care to avoid the vampire's assistant, though. Don't trust him."

"Of course you don't, you're a werewolf." Harry said, smirking. "Smells like death and taxes, according to Remus. Don't know where he ran into any vampires, though."

"It's worse," Rafe answered with a disgusted look. "The old one's all right, though. Happens after they pass a couple centuries, I've heard. Must be near a millennium old to be this tolerable."

"He might've met the founders," Harry said absently. "Would be curious to hear what tales he has to tell about our illustrious forefathers."

"Eh, vampires always have a price for things like that. Mostly the same one, obviously." Rafe said, shrugging. "I'm disqualified. Animal blood, sort of."

"There's vampires that drink animal blood, though, aren't there?" Harry answered. "There's a bunch of types, as I understand. Never heard about that back in school."

"The animal-sucking kind are mostly weird. Skin like iron, and the newborns are aggressive as hell and fond of killing anyone that comes near. Most of them are equal opportunity hunters. Better to have our aristocratic types – they think that sort of thing is distasteful and rather below their stature.."

"Snob vampires. Just what you need," Harry said with a snort. "At least they can get along with humans, I suppose."

"We're rather fond of you, actually." Avicenna commented from right behind Harry. He nearly jumped out of his chair but a spindly hand, impossibly strong, kept him in his seat. "I apologize for startling you. Werewolves are, I'm afraid, not the only people here with good ears, and I heard you speaking of me."

Harry relaxed and noted that several people had left the table since he last looked – the ghost was mumbling under his breath now that he no longer had a conversation partner. Avicenna's assistant and the man from Temporal had also left. "Didn't mean to be rude." he said hesitantly.

"No problem." Avicenna said with a smile. "I am quite aware that due to the Ministry's laws, you will have seen very few vampires in the flesh, if you will. Britain in general is not a good place for most of us, given the draconian measures taken by previous administrations."

"Werewolves don't have it much better," Rafe grumbled. "This is practically the only governmental department that would even hire either of us."

"It's because our – condition – is controlled." Avicenna explained. "The werewolves who work here are supplied Wolfsbane Potion from our private labs, and a place to safely transform. Vampires like myself are supplied freely given blood – an initiative now extended to all vampires of England since the new Minister came into office – and we are even allowed a limited number of volunteer human companions. Traditionally, they're called thralls but I find the implications distasteful."

"I've heard a bit about that. I should read up on it." Harry said, nodding. "I heard a bit about a classification system with numbers – variations on being a vampire?"

"It's sort of complicated," Avicenna said with a shrug. "I'm of the traditional European type – tend not to turn people without permission, need relatively little sustenance to get by and it's all rather civil. There's all sorts of variations – older types, mainly – that are more animalistic and share quite a bit in common with the werewolf curse. Indeed, there's legends of the so-called Werebat that meld the two rather well, suggesting possibly a hybrid strain of the two conditions."

"You consider it an illness?" Harry wondered.

"I do not, but I would not disagree with the Ministry in their handling of the more volatile siblings of the European Vampire – which, by the way, is now a worldwide species – for example, there is a variant known as the Malkavian that has extreme insanity as a main component. None of such vampires can live in a normal society – they're even wilder than an animal would be. I would like to believe that the more civilized type is distinguished from those beasts."

"Much like Loup-Garou." Rafe commented. "Rare breed, that. Nastiest type of werewolves around, and a lot more dangerous than your average one. Allegedly they're the result of a separate curse that just mimics normal werewolves, though it's vague where it originated. A lot of the time, werewolves get the blame when a Loup-Garou goes on a rampage. Most normal werewolves are sane enough to lock themselves up in time – our big cousins don't even known what they are, mostly."

"There's different types of werewolves TOO?" Harry said, eyebrows raised. "I guess I missed out on all of this when I skipped sixth and seventh year."

"There's far more around than just the common stuff," Rafe said with a grimace. "I mean, you've got mock-werewolves all over the place – some don't even bloody transform, they just get the rage and start ripping people apart. Native Americans have their own too, I hear. That's just the wolves too. Let's not even start on all the other weres."

"Knowing my luck I'll run into all of them." Harry said with a grimace. "Probably without silver."

"Know at least that those who work here are safe," Avicenna said, as he moved off. "We'll talk later. Perhaps I will have an opening for a companion in the future."

"He didn't just say that." Harry muttered, staring at Rafe. "He didn't just bloody say that."

"Emphasis on bloody." Rafe answered with a chuckle.

* * *

"So you're talking, what, a month or two?" Jocelyn Burbidge asked, eyebrows raised. "That's remarkable, really. I mean, of course, I knew he'd be a big shot when he came in – publicity and all – but how's he going to -"

"You know I can't really go into that detail, Jocelyn." The cloaked time-traveller said – the last two still in the dining room, a privacy spell blocking their conversation from prying ears. "Timetravel's a tricky business at the best of times. All I can really tell is that somehow, within three months from the date we've been given, your newbie's going to be building bridges with the Americans."

"You have no idea how he's going to accomplish it?"

"No idea, whatsoever. Unless we send someone there by the Slow Path, there's no Temporal Operatives near that time, and as far as our records go, we didn't send anybody."

"I still don't understand why you can't just pick a date and go there," Jocelyn murmured. "You're time-travellers, what's the problem?"

"You don't really understand the way in which we govern time-travel." The man said with a gesture. "It's not as simple as picking a date and off you go. Sometimes, that works, certainly – but only because you hit a date that fit. You see, you can't really alter the past – any changes you may have made in the past already happened to lead you to the future in which you travel back. There's no overwriting history as far as we're aware, and history is not filled with inexplicable time travellers popping up all over the place."

"So what does that even mean?"

"Means we can only go back to certain points." The Temporal Operative answered. "Any of our time travellers records his or her presence in a certain time period by date, and puts it into our files – that way, we can look at the various files we've got available and tick off which of the various missions one of our operatives is destined to do."

"What if someone didn't record being in the past?"

"That's possible, of course, but we have a dedicated group of people and at the very least none of them have destroyed the world." The man smirked knowingly. "Very comforting, I would say, that the world's still there in a year."

"Can you tell me anything about then?"

"Not even you, my dear Jocelyn. You're not one of us, and as far as we are aware, you won't be one either. I apologize."

Jocelyn snorted as the table was being cleaned around them by the nigh invisible magic of house-elves. "I don't even want to join your group. Sounds like a giant headache to me."

"It can be." the man said, nodding. "Take your newbie, for example. We don't have a record for all his activities, but we are certain he's going to be a Temporal Operative in the future."

"He is?" Jocelyn said, eyebrow raised. "If he's destined to do that, why not simply hold off on that job? It'd mean he can't die in between, can't it?"

"Unless the records we have aren't from the real Harry Potter," the man said. "It's not as easy as all that, I promise. We are not the only ones with this magic, and we've been back to stop idiots from trying to change the time line a lot of times."

"That's not possible though, is it?" Jocelyn answered, frowning.

"Technically it is – if whatever was changed is what led to the current time line. Doesn't mean we shouldn't stop them though – quite a few are obviously destined to be stopped from changing by our operatives."

"This is giving me a headache."

"Try passing Temporal Grammar. I will have failed three times. I've yet to do them in the past. I probably will have done them in the near future."

"Stop that!" Jocelyn said with a giggle.

* * *

Sneaking in was the easy part, really.

Peter Pettigrew, known commonly by his nickname Wormtail was squatting under a low table in his Animagus form, rigid – imitating the many stuffed animals that were around him. Thankfully, the Department of Mysteries, for all its safety measures, had not counted on animagi lifting along with authorized wizards. Leaving would be a whole other matter, but if his mission was successful, it should be quite easy to accomplish to get in and out the next time.

Guarantee there's a way to shut down the wards. Easier said than done. Large-scale defensive charms – commonly known as warding spells due to their use for warding off dark magic or unauthorized people – were almost always cast upon something solid, such as a building's so-called heartstone or a pillar of the foundation. The stronger the wards, the more magically potent the target of the spell had to be – and like Hogwarts, the Ministry would've cut no expense.

It wasn't very hard to guess, really. Wedged in between the rings, swords and magical cups was a large obsidian obelisk inscribed with runes, glowing softly. It was one of the few items that was covered in multiple layers of defensive charms of its own, preventing anyone from touching the object without getting a nasty curse thrown in their direction.

The Wardstone, no doubt. Lord Voldemort had known what it was, of course – he'd been in here before, decades ago, and the item in question had been in use even then. The Dark Lord was planning his capture of the Potter boy and this pillar was the key to snatching him from his new home away from home.

Now, it was just a question of putting the plan into action. Looking both ways to avoid detection, Pettigrew shifted into human form and opened the little bag he'd taken along. His hand disappeared impossibly far within it.

* * *

**Author's Note : **

Minor references to : Monty Python, Dresden Files.

_Rafe Phelan_, based on less obvious wolf references than Remus Lupin, as well as a nod at Phelan Porteous (Phelous) from ThatGuyWithTheGlasses.

_Charles Aleyn_, ghost of an actual historical poet – actually a wizard, it turns out, in lieu of the chocolate frog cards. (?-1640ish)

_Avicenna_, ancient vampire based on the historical Muslim polymath Ibn Sīnā, known with the Latinized name Avicenna. (980-1037) There's a certain irony given the man's recorded words ("_I prefer a short life with width to a narrow one with length_.") though he came back on this late in life and was quite distraught over it – this is merely a possible continuation from there. No offence intended to any believers or historians. ;)


	8. Acclimation : The Department, Part 2

**Chapter 8 : The Department (Part Two)**

_Specialized Occupations _

Due to past international dealings, many nations historically specialized in specific magical fields in favor of others, especially in their respective Departments of Mysteries or equivalent. Although European Ministries took a balanced approach, much of the disparity remains in other parts of the globe, particularly in Asia. Specialists are often requested to join missions where their particular skills will be of use, though they tend to be excluded from more general missions due to their narrow focus.

[…]

Wand-magic, the most common form of magic globally, remains the most significant overlap between all nations with organized magical governments, in part due to it being one of only a few forms of magic that is easily taught in a public school setting. Since schooling began to replace apprenticeships around 500 BCE, wandless forms of magic have lost in popularity and use due to their relatively high requirements on an individual's magical capability and time. Wanded forms of magic that are non-traditional also became less relevant to many users given that better alternatives for achieving their effects were found by more commonly usable means, such as enchanted artifacts. (Read about the Artifact Crisis for more information on why this particular field of magic also came into disuse in subsequent centuries.)

[…]

The most famous specialized occupations currently practiced in the British Isles include specific forms of Healing, several forms of Seeing and Scrying. There also remains a small subpopulation in the wizarding community of self-described 'Mancers' who specialize in the manipulation of the primal elements. All alternative forms of magic are registered at the Ministry of Magic.

[…]

Outside the British Isles, many alternative forms of magic are practiced and are generally culturally bound – for example, Japan is known to have several forms of alternative magic that have become partially known to local muggles due to weaker segregation of the wizarding population. These include several Healing practices, traditional alternatives to the Animagus transformation and magic focused on stealth and assassination, known as 'Ninjutsu'.

From '_Unspeakable Primer_' Selected Passages, _P. 213, 215, 217, 218._

* * *

_"HARRY POTTER EMPLOYED AT MINISTRY!"_

It was splayed across the page in garishly large letters – the letters were actually wiggling, as if they were trying to jump off the page entirely. At least that wasn't too surprising, Harry thoughts dryly.

He'd read the article right away, just to see the damage – it was relatively benign compared to what it usually said, at least. The article itself was terribly uninformative – it contained one or two references to the fact that the Department of Mysteries was involved. Harry was sort of surprised at that – it was a notorious part of the Ministry judging by past publications in the Prophet. Possibly the paper was simply hesitant to print too much information on it before they were absolutely certain, given the reaction they could expect from the Unspeakables if they were caught lying. (Harry was certain it would involve removing memories and the spontaneous disappearance of all records of the paper having ever been written.)

Strangely enough, it seemed that someone had been paying particular attention to the fake conversation he'd had with the Minister. He hadn't meant to sound profound, but apparently that's what he'd managed to do. Indeed, his impromptu Latin had apparently managed to make him sound ´cultured, educated, and intelligent.´ Harry smirked – he should remember that one the next time he had an interview. Evidently the media were quite enamored with a bit of showmanship.

With that in mind, Harry picked up his collection of writings by Virgil – one of his mother's books, of course, lavishly illustrated and signed. There were probably a few other tidbits in here he could use when he was inevitably cornered by Rita Skeeter.

"Mister Potter?" A voice said at the door, and Harry's head snapped up.

"Mister Lassell?" Harry wondered, waving his hand at the door to open it. "It's not time yet, is it? I could've sworn…"

"Oh, you're not too late at all," Lassell said with a small smile as he quickly closed the door behind him. "There are quite a few people out there to see you, so I thought I'd come warn you."

"Already?" Harry groaned, "I'd hoped I could get to the Department without being harassed, at least."

"They've been there since before the Prophet came," Lassell answered nervously. "They're the press, they probably already heard all about your employment from colleagues yesterday, and they've barricaded most of the way down by now. Don't think you can avoid them, either."

"Great, now what do I do? It's at least good they don't know where my bedroom is," Harry said, scoffing as he walked over to the window. It wasn't really a window, of course, but at least it gave him a nice view. "Not really the best way to begin a day, I think."

"I would suggest putting your robe on first," Lassell said, gesturing towards the chair on which the brand new Unspeakable robe hung in a haphazard fashion. "Might've been okay for you to traipse around in your school wear yesterday, but you're expected to wear the uniform when on duty. You can use it to obscure your identity, at least for a while."

"Hadn't really thought of wearing it yet, had other things on my mind," Harry admitted, walking over. "It's enchanted, right?"

"Mostly defensive charms and a few obscuring ones," the brown-haired man noted with a smirk. "There are a few other ones that aren't really relevant right now. You don't really have the clearance."

Harry sighed as he pulled the robe over his normal clothes, thankful that he'd just pulled on his muggle wear instead of his full Hogwarts uniform. The robe fit perfectly and Harry barely even noticed it was there. "Comfy."

"Well, it was designed as a uniform, you know." Lassell replied. "It's got big pockets and summoning things from it is pretty darn impossible. Well, unless you're Albus Dumbledore, I suppose. Oh, the hood there? If you put it up it should turn transparent for you – everyone else won't be able to see your face anymore. The only ones exempted are those also wearing Unspeakable robes."

"Makes sense. Can't imagine what kind of enchanting went into making these."

"Enough," Lassell answered. "They're worth a fortune but thankfully they are pretty safe. Be sure not to have anyone wear it unless they're an Unspeakable – there's security spells in there that are fitted to you now. They'd probably die."

"Time to face the music, I suppose?" Harry asked with a grimace.

Lassell smiled broadly. "Oh, I'll leave you to that on your own. Just a hint: you're in the Department now, so you'd better make a good impression. You know what kind of reputation we have and the kinds of people that work down there – act it up a little. The media will gobble up obscurantism when we're involved, and they've no idea what kind of introduction rituals we use. It's popularly believed that we sacrifice goats."

"You want me to make up fancy-sounding things so they'll leave me alone?"

"I'll see you in the Department in half an hour." Lassell said as he vanished. For a moment Harry thought he'd apparated but suddenly the door opened a crack and closed again. Invisibility Cloak, huh? Harry thought about using his own for a moment, but decided against it. He was nowhere near stealthy enough to pull off a trek all the way down to the lower floors and considering the people waiting for him down there somewhere he'd probably end up getting it damaged.

"Here goes nothing," Harry said with a shrug, and he stepped into the hallway.

To say that things were hectic would be an understatement. Harry had barely made it to the central staircases before someone - Harry had no idea how - recognized him and ran up with a parchment and furiously writing automatic quill – doubtlessly the type that Rita Skeeter used. Harry cursed that he couldn't use the elevator yet to skip the floors and quickly marched downstairs ignoring all people who tried to approach. The Unspeakable robes did their job to keep most of the Ministry personnel away – they knew better than to mess with the Department of Mysteries, probably – but the press was far more insistent.

Nearing the final corridor to the Department - with a shudder Harry remembered dreaming of this place many times as Voldemort finally succeeded to lure him to the Ministry to retrieve the prophecy. Now, unlike then, it was completely packed with rows upon rows of people.

Rita Skeeter was there, of course. As always, her blonde hair was styled in elaborate curls, and she was wearing those awful gaudy rhinestone-studded spectacles. Clutched in her hands were a crocodile-leather handbag and a long green feather that was all too familiar. She was flanked on both sides by wizards and witches carrying all manners of photographic equipment – though all of it rather lumpy. Several of the wizards had strange devices filled with powder which were apparently meant to ignite at random, if their spontaneous flashes were anything to go by. An eccentric-looking wizard flanked Rita, his hair the texture of candy floss, and his clothes a gaudy yellow that hurt the eyes. Golden jewelry blinked from behind his jacket.

"Mister Potter!" the strange wizard yelled, attracting the attention of that mass all at once. Harry stepped back with a gulp, his robe evidently quite incapable of hiding his identity. "Xenophilius Lovegood, the Quibbler. You know my daughter, yes?"

Harry nodded quickly, as Luna's father was almost immediately drowned out by at least a dozen different journalists yelling their own publications, while Rita Skeeter stalked up with a nasty smile. Someone grabbed at his robe; another took hold of a sleeve. "STOP!" he yelled in a sudden burst of anger.

'Concentrate, don't let them get to you,' Harry thought, trying to focus. These very people had been all too willing to slander him just last year, decrying that Lord Voldemort wasn't back. Now here they were, suddenly in favor of him again. They weren't really interest in him – they were interested in a news story that would sell. 'Well then, let's give them something to write about,' he thought with a smirk.

The throng of journalists had backed away somewhat at his outburst, except for Rita, of course. Several kept making pictures, though there was little to be seen on them now.

With a flourish, Harry threw his hood backwards – it was too late to claim anonymity now. Harry gave them his best glare. "If you wish to speak to me in the future, you will make contact with the Minister for Magic or the head of the Department of Mysteries," he said after a lengthy pause. "I prefer to go to work in peace."

Rita gulped at the cold stare she received. "Mister Potter, you have only joined the Ministry yesterday, surely-"

"You will make an appointment or I will have you arrested for harassment." Harry stated harshly, internally wincing. This was harder than it had seemed, though Rita seemed sufficiently cowed.

"Mister Potter, are you indeed confirming that you are working at the Department of Mysteries?" a tall wizard asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"The Ministry will certainly make an announcement soon, if they have not done so already. The Department of Mysteries was most gracious to offer me a position, and I accepted. A position that I shall soon have to fill, lest I arrive late on my second day." Harry said, looking the man in the eye.

"Is there a reason you were recruited at such a young age?" Mister Lovegood asked with a peculiarly sharp look in his eyes. "It is very unusual."

"There are several other young people in service at the Department, including several prodigies in their field. I don't wish to talk about the reasons behind the Ministry's interest in my presence."

"Are there rumors true that you were in league with Albus Dumbledore and spent the last year involved in efforts to combat his threat?" A witch asked from the right, drowning out several other questions. Harry didn't quite know how to answer that one – the answer was sort of yes, but he couldn't very well say that – but it seemed his hesitation was taken as an answer.

"Is the presence of noted Pyrokinetic Mustang related to your recruitment at the Ministry?", "Are you involved in an effort to overthrow the Minister?", "Do you remain insane like least year?" The questions were quick and progressively more addle-brained, and Harry finally decided it was enough.

"SILENCE!" he yelled, and the mass of journalists suddenly followed his command – even the cameras stopped flashing. "I will arrange for an interview sometime in the next few weeks, when I find the time. I have an appointment in a little less than ten minutes and it is of vital importance."

"You're involved in something important, then? What does go on in the Department of Mysteries, Mister Potter?" Rita asked sweetly, her eyes twinkling almost like Dumbledore's would.

"I am afraid that I cannot give you such information – if I did, I'd have to kill you." He said it as a joke, but it was quite obvious from the many wide-eyed stares that there were not very many muggle-borns here – and fewer still that would watch television.

"Very well, mister Potter." Said one nervously. "You can expect a letter. Quite a few, I'm sure."

"Step aside." Harry said curtly, marveling at his own performance – he'd managed to intimidate a whole bunch of media people with a showy cloak and a harsh look!

Rita Skeeter was the last to tail along as Harry reached the entrance to the Department itself – several angry-looking Aurors flanked the door and were looking at Harry impatiently.

"Harry, Harry…" She began with a sweet smile. "Quite a show, that was. You're not the only one to read the classics, you know. _Audacibus annue coeptis_, I would say? You'll hear from me."

Harry blinked as Rita moved off, not even arranging an interview. That Latin sentence – it was from his book on Virgil, he was certain. _Look with favor upon a bold beginning._

* * *

"Very nicely done," said a voice as Harry finally walked into the central entrance hall of the Department. It was Lassell, of course. He slipped off his invisibility cloak and quickly put it into a duffle bag he slung over his shoulder. "I was ready with my flimsy memory modification spells in case it was necessary, but that was quite unnecessary. I particularly liked that bit about having to kill them! That'll make them think twice!"

"Wizards can't take a joke." Harry said with a shrug. "Right then, I'm here. I'm on time, even. How'd I do that?"

Lassell chuckled, combing his hair into a semblance of neatness – hiding under a clammy cloak hadn't done it any good. "You've already seen a bit of the Cosmos Chamber, so I figure I could introduce you to a few of the other people there – well, you've technically already met them at dinner – and get you helping one of them out. That should give you a nice way to get used to the dynamics of this place.

"It's very different from its reputation, isn't it?"

"Depends who you ask, I suppose," Lassell answered with a shrug. "I mean, you've got the people who are totally obsessed over the place having Necromancers in service, for example. Not that they're any good in the field, mind you – since they're not really allowed to go into full-on dark magic they tend to just muddle here and there. It was quite a bit different in the past, before the whole place came down in pieces."

"When the international cooperation was destroyed." Harry guessed, thinking of his manual. "I read that in the history section. A lot of ideas were shot to pieces when that happened, eh?"

"I'm probably not the best person to ask," Lassell answered with a nervous shrug. "Jocelyn – that's Mrs. Burbidge – thinks I'm a bit nutty with my ideas that the international organization simply went even deeper underground than the Unspeakables themselves."

"Secret even to the Unspeakables?" Harry wondered. "You figure they're in it for themselves, then? Some conspiracy of wizards that are doing illegal stuff without anyone knowing?"

"Possibly," Lassell answered distractedly. "Or the whole destruction of the cooperation was a ruse in the first place. It only broke up because of that blasted Grindelwald after all."

Harry narrowed his eyes at that. "The manual is quite clear that the massacre-"

"Yes, yes." Lassell said with a sigh. "A great tragedy, but it was not nearly as relevant to the Departments of Mysteries. To this day most members are from higher classes of society – not from the slums."

"I'm just saying that death on that scale could break anyone. I can see how it could break a long-standing alliance between nations." Harry sighed as he walked over to the night-black door that would lead to the cosmos chamber – it was very helpful to have color-coded doors now, given that he was officially an employee. "You know the muggle world dealt with a similar blow at the same time and it's known as one of the greatest monstrosities in history."

"I'm sorry for bringing this up at all," Lassell said sadly. "I sometimes get lost in my conspiratorial thoughts. I might lose track of the big picture."

Harry didn't answer, thinking back to reading his manual. It was a great read – it held everything from the Department's history, commonly used tools and magic, as well an in-depth look at historical activities of the Department and its allies. Much of the book covered centuries that Harry had barely thought about – a good chunk was talking about the British Ministry before it was even called that.

Recent History had been a chilling read, though. In a way he was thankful of doddering old Binns – he'd never even touched on any of this, barring a mention or two of the clashes with Grindelwald and Voldemort. A gap in his knowledge of the past – sure. He was beginning to think he should've never read it at all.

Death on an unimaginable scale pervaded the last century – there was barely a reprieve between one Dark Lord and another, with minor threats filling in the interim. Especially after the disbanding of the international cooperation of Ministries violence had gone way up – especially against muggles. The manual had more mentions of massacres among muggle villages and populations than any other.

The big one, the most notable event he'd known nothing about, was spoken about quickly without any bold text or exaggerated pictures. It was a morose set of passages speaking dispassionately about the topic, as if to get it over with. It casually mentioned the death of nearly a quarter of the wizarding population of continental Europe. Like an afterthought.

A quarter of the wizarding population of Europe. Britain had been largely spared (the books theorized the presence of Albus Dumbledore, Grindelwald's greatest rival, kept him from attempting the crossing,) but the number was still beyond reckoning. Aside from the exodus of European wizardry, it had led to undue resentment against the British government which had been slow in responding to what was known simply as Grindelwald's Massacre. Gellert Grindelwald evidently had little to do with it himself – his followers had simply gone over the edge and used muggles to do their dirty work – stealing the wands from wizards and delivering vast numbers of undesirable wizards to the nastiest of dictator around.

Harry had realized, reading these pages of history, where much of the bigotry against muggles came from, even if it wasn't often mentioned. It was wizards that arranged it – the involvement of Grindelwald's dark wizards was well known – but it was muggles that ultimately killed a huge number of wizards and witches. Muggles were held indirectly responsible for the largest massacre wizard kind recorded in wizarding history.

A decade-long debate over guilt and punishments had followed the eventual defeat of Grindelwald at Dumbledore's hand and the defeat of both muggle and magical forces of terror that were destroying any semblance of peace. No Ministry turned out to be innocent- many had hidden spies, collaborators, even Imperius-controlled slaves in their midst, slipped through the net while the wizarding world tried to distance itself even further from the awful things happening in the muggle one. Alliances were shattered, most Ministries too paranoid to dare negotiate on equal footing with another. It would take decades for such trust to reestablish itself – the Department of Mysteries still hadn't.

It had been the Departments of Mysteries in the various nations that had allowed the enemy to even make the massacre possible, after all. Like none other, cooperation among nations had been strongest there – the research of magic, core to all wizarding nations like nothing else, and in conjunction with that peacekeeping on an international scale. Mopping up after the Artifact Crisis had brought them together, but it had been internal betrayal on the deepest level that had torn it apart again. It was through the implicit trust among dedicated members of the Departments of Mysteries that Grindelwald's forces had managed their most horrible feats.

Nobody had even known until it was all over.

Harry sighed as he looked at Lassell miserably. The top-side of the wizarding world was happy and colorful and filled with bizarre events and magnificent creatures. The underbelly of the beast, however, was soaked in blood.

One of the strangest things, though, had been a symbol. A triangle around a circle, with a line down the middle. A symbol Harry swore he'd seen somewhere before, recently. It was a chilling thought – where could he have seen the symbol of the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald?

* * *

The Cosmos Chamber, like ever, was dark and foreboding. Distantly the light of the imitation sun shone through the huge room, its fingers of luminance barely reaching the edges. Harry soared through the darkness without too much enthusiasm – he'd been thinking about people dying far too much. He needed to get his mind off things.

"You look unusually glum considering it's only your second day," said a cultured voice as someone came floating out of the darkness. "It is good to see you again, Mister Potter."

"Avicenna, right?" Harry questioned. It was the aristocratic vampire from dinner – the one that the werewolf Rafe had estimated at a millennium old.

"Correct. I saw you drifting out here in your lonesome. Lost?" Avicenna smiled slightly. "I was assigned some minor work on the moons of Jupiter, want to come along?"

Harry nodded, scooting along with a thought. Harry unconsciously took a position reminiscent of Quidditch – forwards, knees bent. Avicenna stayed completely upright and looked about as aerodynamic as a brick.

"Just thinking about things," Harry admitted finally. "I've been reading the manual, and it's got some unsettling things in there."

"You've reached the history section, eh." Avicenna said matter-or-factly. "Not the first person I've heard mention it. If you think recent history's bad, try the things that aren't thoroughly documented. Half the wars I was personally involved in aren't even in the books."

"You've been around for a while, I suppose," Harry said. "You must've seen a lot of these awful things with your own eyes. Feels like my own experiences hardly measure up."

"I've been around, as you say. A thousand years or so, last time I bothered to count. In life, I was a polymath – I was well versed in many fields, though many would be considered primitive today, I'm certain. I interacted with the muggle world quite a bit – modern-day Persia, that's where I was."

"I'm pretty sure Persia's not there anymore." Harry said wonderingly. "I suppose if you're immortal it sort of blurs together.

"Eh, immortality. I didn't wish for it. In life, I said '_I prefer a short life with width to a narrow one with length.' – _I came to regret the sentiment and tried to make amends for my wrongdoings when I was dying, I was quite distraught. Then I met my sire."

"The vampire that turned you," Harry said, nodding, as the two finally left the darkness and came into view of Jupiter again. Apparently it had become quite the meeting place, though Lassell was currently elsewhere.

"The exact circumstances are not important – the results were that I was thought to be dead, and I ended up as a relatively rare breed – a vampire that retained his ability to use magic. It's quite rare, you know – vampirism and magic don't tend to go together very well. Most lose their conscious control of magic entirely after being embraced. Turned, if you will." Avicenna sighed lightly. "I rejected the change, initially."

"You were turned against your will?" Harry asked, shocked.

Avicenna shook his head. "No, I agreed to the turning of my own free will. I regretted that choice. It's perhaps not easy to understand in this modern age, but deeply held beliefs were far more powerful then compared to now, even within the wizarding community. I was a Muslim scholar, and I had enough problems justifying using magic in conjunction with those beliefs. Becoming an undying creature that drinks blood to survive didn't make things any easier. I spent half a century discussing the matter with several similarly afflicted individuals. Ultimately, I changed my priorities. I pursued my greatest interests and sought to fulfill those."

"I've never really thought too deeply about this religious stuff," Harry admitted. "I mean, I've been to a church a few times – my uncle probably thought he could use it to get the magic out of me – but I've never really thought about it. Hadn't really thought about what wizards and witches believed in, either. Do they even believe in a life after death like the Dursleys do? Like Dumbledore does?"

Avicenna chuckled. "Such grand questions, mister Potter. And a grand irony in asking a vampire of all beings about a life after death. I already have mine, and have elected to spend it in the study of the world – and perhaps, in time, I will see the worlds I study here with my own eyes. I have time a-plenty."

"Maybe I should look up a book on the topic." Harry mused.

"Religion's every bit as testy a topic among wizards as it is among muggles," Avicenna pointed out. "Be prepared to step into a mire of contradicting opinions and vastly overstated nonsense from all sides."

"Great." Harry muttered. "I can just see it now. Hundreds of Snapes battling it out."

"I have the advantage over you in that I can think of these matters over centuries," Avicenna admitted. "Perhaps someday we will speak on a more even footing on these matters. I keep my views to myself, don't bother others, and it's worked for me for the past few centuries. I figure if I can get other people to act like that, we could even get along."

"Good luck with that," Harry muttered, "Now, we were here to do something worthwhile, right?"

"Depends on what you call worthwhile," Avicenna said, chuckling. "Do you see all those tiny moons? We're supposed to note any deviations in their paths from usual. I think it's got something to do with a comet or asteroid that passed through the system?" Avicenna picked a notepad from one of the deep pockets in his robe. He seemed very much younger than he had at the dinner table – far less stately and official-sounding. "Right, there's been a bit of a collision on the far side, and as far as we're aware the muggles didn't pick up on it. We did, though – and it's rather interesting. It was a minor asteroid that came from somewhere in the outer regions of the solar system. We're supposed to find it."

"We're the only ones in here?" Harry wondered as he noted that there were no distant bobbing lights like there were the day before.

"We are. Means we get to manipulate the whole thing – you'll love it, I'm sure." Avicenna stated, hovering upwards. Harry followed until they were both some distance above the planet. "Now, I could've just tracked which moons changed orbit and calculated where the asteroid came in – that would give us our answer. Since we're alone now, let's do something a little more interesting."

Harry didn't see anything in particular – Avicenna merely closed his eyes and a look of concentration appeared on his face. A dull groaning seemed to echo from all sides. It took Harry a moment to realize that Jupiter was –stopping-.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked nervously. With a shudder the giant planet came to a halt, its moons similarly suspended.

"We're turning back Jupiter's clock." Avicenna said with a smile. "Toughest one, obviously, aside from the sun – a great deal of magic in there."

With a second groaning noise the planet slowly started turning backwards. Moons slowly started orbiting in the opposite directions, a small storm dissipating on the giant planet's surface as Harry watched .

"Almost there," Avicenna said, finally opening his eyes. From one moment to the next, a bright flash seemed to erupt from the part of Jupiter facing away from the miniature sun at the core of the faux solar system. It wasn't very large, but the rock was still large enough to slam right through the top layer of Jupiter's thick atmosphere.

"It's a space rock," Harry said dryly. "Not sure what the significance is."

"A little respect, please," Avicenna said without a smile. "Those space rocks have destroyed most of the Earth's life, several times. If one of those gets near us in the future, we're in trouble."

"Why does the Ministry study them, though? Isn't this the sort of thing muggles are good at?" Harry squatted in mid-air, though it wasn't easy. "I mean, the simulation is great, but beyond that I think most of this is already done."

"You overestimate muggle science," Avicenna answered. "They're far – and they'll probably get somewhere near us in the next few decades – but they're not as close as us, nor as capable of intervening. If one of these big ones is heading our way, we want to anticipate it before muggles see it. If we can deflect it out of our way before the muggles see it coming, we can prevent disaster and keep our society a secret. If we allow one of these foreseeable disasters to slip out of grasp, we risk global catastrophe of one kind or another."

"You don't think so lowly of muggles, do you?" Harry wondered, worriedly. "Surely they deserve a little more credit than that. It's not as if coordinating with the muggles on this would be a full-out breach of the statute of secrecy."

"How would it not be?" Avicenna wondered. "International wizard cooperation is terrible as it is, and muggle-wizard cooperation is barely more than a formality. The muggle Minister knows about our existence and some important factoids, but nothing concrete – we certainly don't get any muggles involved in our struggles."

"Couldn't you arrange for some meeting of minds?" Harry asked, irate. "I mean, you've got obliviators, I'm sure something could be arranged. Get the greatest muggle and wizard minds in the same room working on problems like what to do when one of these big space rocks heads for us. It just makes sense."

Avicenna didn't answer, but his face was troubled. "Perhaps we'll see that happen, someday. The wizarding world's not ready for it, though. There's a new war coming, and it's probably going to put this place out of business until it's over."

"I suppose I'll have to end it quickly then," Harry said with a smirk.

"Confident of yourself, eh?" Avicenna said with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps we'll see what you can do after some proper training. Since we found our culprit, I'll alert Lassell of its position and he can mark it down while we do something else. What would you think of learning how to apparate?"

* * *

"You wished to speak with me, Miss Burbidge?" Harry asked warily as he stepped into the sparsely-decorated office. Jocelyn Burbidge had a look of distaste on her face – though that had been there at dinner too, so perhaps it was how she usually looked.

"Mister Potter. I understand you've been spending the day in the Cosmos Chamber?"

"Yes. Unspeakable Avicenna has been showing me some of the things that are done there, and he's been teaching me how to use the silent spells."

"That and you've been registered as apparating without a license several dozen times." Burbidge replied with a thin smile. "Taking advantage of your new rights already, are you?"

"Unspeakable Avicenna was merely showing me how to do short-range jumps, Miss Burbidge. I suppose I'll get a license as time permits."

"I like a proactive approach in learning, Mister Potter. I hope that your commitment to learning the important basics will persist into the future. I expect some great things from you, considering the kind of reputation you've built up.

"I can't really help that, you know. Being famous sort of takes care of that on its own." Harry said sheepishly.

"I asked you to come here today since something relevant to your personal safety has come up. The new security measures in the Department have kept a close eye on the activities of an illegal Animagus that has been sneaking in to attempt to sabotage our anti-apparition wards. A certain rat that you might be familiar with."

"Wormtail!" Harry ground out. "You caught him?"

"He's not currently in custody." Burbidge said softly. "Capturing him would prompt Lord Voldemort to change his approach, so we allow him the illusion of undetected entry. We have a wizard trailing Mr. Pettigrew at all times, in case he ever becomes a liability. Right now, you are at little to no risk. The wizard in question does not even mean to harm you directly as far as we can tell. He is convinced one of our relics is a lynchpin for our security system, it seems."

"A lynchpin?" Harry questioned, "You mean for wards? I thought I read-"

"You read correctly. It would appear that You-know-who's information on our security network is considerably out-of-date – it would imply that past leaks from the Department have not given you-know-who sufficient information to gauge how much we've changed since he was last in power."

"You're going to use Pettigrew as bait." Harry finally concluded with a grimace. "You're going to use him to lure the Death Eaters to the Ministry where you can take them out with that fancy new team you're setting up."

"You're quick on the uptake, kid." Burbidge said. "It depends on the kind of timeframe this Pettigrew fellow is expecting. We're stalling him a little with his 'sabotage' but for now we're still assembling a good team. It's probable that an attack will come before they're ready and it'll be a job for the regular Aurors. The greatest issue, perhaps, is that the lure we're using is itself chasing after something as well."

"What do you mean?"

"Pettigrew is clearly trying to find a way for Death Eaters to get to you – he'd on a mission for He-who-must-not-be-named to do exactly that, I suspect. Which would mean you, or someone polyjuiced like you, must be in the Department. Except, we can't just drop our security mechanisms all at once – and polyjuice would be as obvious to us as it would be to any of the Death Eaters."

"Basically, I have to be here to lure them in." Harry concluded. "Battling more Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries – because it worked so well the last time."

"I would suggest leaving the fighting to the Aurors," Burbidge said sternly. "You're a bit more important than makeshift cannon-fodder. I'd suggest barricading yourself in one of the smaller rooms, hide somewhere in the cosmos room, or lock yourself among the artifacts. Death Eaters will have a hell of a time even getting to those places."

"Can't you just allow Unspeakables to apparate or something like that? I mean, I did it earlier in the Cosmos Chamber…" Harry wondered.

"One can't apparate out of the department or into it. Internally some apparition is possible, but obviously we´re not going to leave the door wide open for Death Eater reinforcements or escapees."

"This is a very bad idea."

Burbidge sighed, eyes downcast. "Look, Potter. I know that it's taking advantage of you – tough. You've fought through nastier things than an anticipated Death Eater attack and came out on top. It's a lot to put on your plate, but it could give us a great edge in the war. You know as well as I do that to get someone like you, You-know-who will send one or more of his highest followers. Bellatrix Lestrange, perhaps. We could de-fang his little cult."

Harry sighed again, but he couldn't really keep arguing against it. It wasn't going to be stopped just because he thought it was a terrible plan.

"When would this happen?" Harry finally asked. "Are we talking weeks?"

"We can't be precise." Burbidge admitted. "We're talking weeks to months. Certainly not much longer. We'll know it's at hand if Pettigrew makes his getaway."

"Guess that means I'd better learn fast."

"I expect that anyway, Mister Potter." Burbidge exclaimed, shoving her chair backwards. "I expect you to visit with the Custodians today, and to continue familiarizing yourself with the Cosmos Chamber, for now. We'll keep you informed about any developments regarding our … guest."

"Why do I get the feeling I was recruited to set up exactly this sort of trap?" Harry asked with a twitch.

Burbidge sniffed at that, shaking her head. "Oh, don't worry, there were plenty of reasons for you being here that had nothing to do with the coming war. I wasn't for your recruitment, but it's out of my hands."

Harry didn't quite know how to react to that. He doubted there was a reaction that the haughty woman wouldn't disapprove of.

"Incidentally, this arrived for you, earlier today. The wards picked up on it and delivered it to me, due to your new status as an employee here." Burbidge opened a small filing cabinet and rifled through an absurdly huge amount of folders crammed in there – it was like Moody's trunk, enlarged on the inside. "You're lucky that it reached me rather than anyone else – it's from a family member of mine and it may contain some rather sensitive information. Be sure to arrange for more covert communication in the future."

Harry blinked confusedly as he took the yellowed parchment. It was signed, oddly enough, by Draco Malfoy. "I wonder what he wants?"

"I would suggest purchasing a pair of linked mirrors if you wish to keep in contact." Burbidge said softly. "There are few wizards in the Department who could resist opening a letter with your name on it. Draco's name would get a similar reaction."

Harry grimaced as he read through the letter in silence. He could barely believe half the words in it. Draco Malfoy, going against his parents and Lord Voldemort in one go? Draco Malfoy trying to take a neutral position? It was like finding out Snape snogged your mother, completely unthinkable.

Halfway through the letter – written rather formally – Malfoy talked about their brief chat during the night – but Harry knew it certainly hadn't happened.

'_I don't know how you found out about my reluctance in joining the Dark Lord or spying on Professor Snape – I expected my covert actions to have been sufficiently hidden for even the headmaster's eyes. Your advice on seeking the Professor's help was appreciated, even if I cannot fathom why you would care. I burned the letter to my mother after you left._

_You never struck me as the type to think things through, so I must confess to some confusion over your apparent interest in my safety and your apparently impressive sources within Slytherin house. Perhaps you were sorted wrongly after all?'_

Harry shivered – now even Malfoy was saying he should've been in Slytherin – and working with a covert organization that specializes in keeping their affairs a secret surely couldn't help matters. Would there be any Gryffindor left in the end?

More pressingly, what on Earth did Malfoy mean? Harry hadn't known about Malfoy's apparent split with the ideals of Voldemort, or his spying activities (even though the latter did confirm some of his nastier assumptions about the boy.) – could it simply be a trick?

The problem with that, Harry figured, was that Malfoy wouldn't be stupid enough to send a letter by owl post detailing such sensitive information unless he was really shaken up – or under direct orders from Voldemort. Yet, if Voldemort were involved, why risk detection from any number of other eyes?

Malfoy had met someone who he'd believed was Harry – and that person had confided in knowing about his true loyalties and dissuaded him from sending a letter to his mother – perhaps one relaying what he'd picked up with his spying. Malfoy was being manipulated by someone within Hogwarts- probably someone using polyjuice. Manipulated to get away from Voldemort's side.

A Polyjuiced imposter, using Harry's face of all people's to get close to Malfoy. It was ridiculous.

"Everything all right, Mister Potter?" Burbidge questioned, and Harry blinked and straightened. He'd been staring at the letter for several minutes, forgetting he was still in the middle of the office and poised to leave.

"This raises more questions than it answers." Harry said shortly as he folded up the letter and shoved it into one of his many pockets. "You wouldn't know where to get some two-way mirrors, would you?"

Burbidge smirked as she opened a cupboard and retrieved two small mirrors – neither more than three inches in length and shining lightly gold. "You can borrow these - I understand you'll be visiting Hogwarts over the weekend so you should arrange to have one delivered to young Draco. They don't allow eavesdropping – only the person holding it can hear or see the other side. Be careful though – your own words are obviously still perceived by any spies."

Harry narrowed his eyes as he accepted the mirrors. "Why are you helping me so much?"

"Merely loyalty to my family, certainly." Burbidge answered immediately. "I may not be a member of the Malfoy family but I have very close ties to them and would like to see them flourish again. With Lucius disgraced and jailed, there are precious few people left to carry on the good name."

Harry nodded hesitantly. "We've never gotten along, as I'm sure you're aware. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"What the heck are you doing up here, Mustang?" Moody growled as he limped into the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. He was wearing his formal Auror robes and most people gave him wide berth. Not quite as wide as the wizard named Mustang, though.

"Alastor! A pleasure to see you!" The tall black-haired target of his ire responded with a slight bow. He was wearing, as always, a long red duster with a flame pattern running down the back and sides, his hands firmly in his pockets and his back slightly bent, as if he were carrying around a weight on his shoulders. A gold-encrusted jewel in the shape of a flame was dangling from his neck, shimmering in the torchlight.

"Mustang, you are fully aware that you are going to light the place on fire if ya stick around here any longer. Follow me." Moody said with a glare. "Why are you up here, anyway? Aren't you usually somewhere down in the bowels, if you bother showing up at all?"

Mustang rolled his eyes as he followed Moody quickly, taking care to keep his hands in his pockets. Mustang, after all, was a Pyromancer – if he wasn't careful, he could accidentally set fire to quite a few wizards. One of the disadvantages of having complete control over the elements – reining that control in when you want to lead a normal life.

"Minister Scrimgeour asked me to tour the different Departments since I'll be working with a few of them in the future." Mustang said as the two entered one of the many lifts which were thankfully rather empty now – the big rush was over. "I understand you'll be working with me?"

"You'll be working with me, more like." Moody said with a glare. "I have twice the experience of the rest of you put together, I'm thinking."

"Can't we that bad, can it?" Mustang said, absently rubbing his nose, causing Moody to tense up. Mustang's hand was covered in a white glove with runes covering it entirely. "Do you like the glove? Designed it myself."

"It keeps those fire powers of yours under control?" Moody wondered, "I don't recognize the rune patterns."

"Oh, no, they're just fancy gloves." Mustang said with a smile, earning himself another stare with Moody's whirling blue eye. "I got the design from one of the guys at Temporal. I'm sure I'll find out where they got it eventually."

"So how DO you keep these flames under control?" Moody wondered as he stepped out into the lowest floor the elevator would go, headed towards the Department of Mysteries. "Haven't met many of you 'Mancers before."

"We don't control it, really." Mustang said after a long pause. "We sort of guide it, if you will. The whole heat thing around me is really a side-effect of my imperfect guiding – some of it escapes where I don't want it. I suppose it could be said as being poor control, though I'm not aware of any Pyromancer or even Necromancer that can pull off seeming normal."

"Why'd they even recruit you for the Department of Mysteries, I wonder? You're probably the least stealthy person we've got."

"I kick arse and take names?" Mustang proposed, juggling a small ball of fire between his hands. "Put me up against almost any ordinary wizard that hasn't prepared themselves and I'll toast them to a crisp. Flame cooling spells only work for a few of my spells and I can burn the oxygen out of a room quickly enough to send anyone in it into shock – of course, that'd include me, which would be annoying."

"You're our powerhouse, then." Moody said with a nod. "I already gathered it's my experience with fighting the Death Eaters that got me the invitation. Y'know any of the others?"

"I hear we're getting some fellow from America that was born here in Britain and a gal from Japan? Or was it the other way around?" Mustang shrugged, sending sparks flying. "I figure that we'll get a stealth specialist, an assassin perhaps. Maybe someone who specialized in medical magic."

"I've some ideas on what kind of person we should be expecting, then." Moody said. "It's rather a moot point until we get a better idea of what we'll be doing anyway. Scrimgeour's being obscure as usual and being mysterious just seems to be a job requirement down here."

"You might see that star pupil of yours again." Mustang said. "Heard about her – a Metamorphmagus, eh?"

"Hmmm, Tonks." Moody answered. "Don't think we'll be taking her along, though. Not only is she a newbie in the Auror gig, but she's also got some problems with coordination. She might be capable of hiding herself well but when you're tripping over every second tile you're not gonna be very stealthy."

"Criticizing your own student, Alastor?" Mustang said, as he followed Moody into the Department of Mysteries.

"Nobody's perfect, Musty. Tonks' simply the best I've ever taught."

"Did you just call me-" The black-haired pyromaniac exclaimed, but he was cut off by Moody hobbling off towards a black door. "What're you doing?"

"Just checkin' on another of my students." Moody said with a smile, shoving open the door and stepping in. "Hey, Harry, I'd like ya to meet an old colleague of mine."

Mustang followed Moody into the darkened room.

"Alastor, what are you doing here?" A dark-haired teen said as he descended from the darkness. "Didn't think you were allowed in here."

"Harry Potter! Blimey!" Mustang half-shouted, plumes of steam rising off his arms. "I heard you were employed here but I didn't think-"

"I've been teachin' him a bit over the summer." Moody explained. "Harry, this firebrand is an old mate of mine – Mustang here was in the Auror program with me many years ago, before he left to become a Pyromancer."

Harry shook Mustang's hand – it was a hot and dry shake, as expected. "Nice to meet you, Mister Mustang."

"Honored to meet you, Mister Potter. I'm quite the fan!" Mustang said happily. "I've read all about you."

"Yes, well…" Harry answered warily. "Don't believe everything you read. I'm sure Moody here can fill you in on what really happened."

"I figured I'd tell you first, Harry." Moody said finally. "I wasn't allowed to before you were an employee, unfortunately. You know the new Chamber they're setting up? Elite group of Death Eater fighters, all that? Technically it's still being planned but when it gets started I'll get to boss everyone around!"

Harry gaped at that. "You're going to be working here? You couldn't have told me that a few days ago? You had me worrying being all alone in the department without any Order members and you're here –yourself- ?"

"Be careful with what you say, boy." Moody said, eyeing Mustang.

Harry blanched, glancing at Mustang with shock – he'd almost forgotten the man was there. Mustang seemed bored with the whole thing. "Order of the Phoenix, eh? Figured out you're a member ages ago, Alastor."

Moody pulled out his wand, but Mustang quickly waved his hand. "No need for that, I'm not going to tell it to anyone, of course. I've had dealing with Dumbledore in the past. Phoenixes are creatures of fire, no? Perhaps I should consider joining."

Harry blinked at that. "You'd do it for the symbol?"

"Well, I do have to keep up the theme, don't I?" The man said with a wide grin. "I've already got the eternal youth thing down, pretty much – I mean, me and Alastor here are nearly the same age and I look twenty years younger! Can't quite use fire to apparate yet, but I'm sure it's possible."

"You're weird." Harry concluded.

"Thank you. So are you, I take it. Slaying giant snakes with magical swords, going around provoking the nastiest wizard in decades on a regular basis, occasionally join a clandestine organization or two." Mustang smirked as he rubbed a gloved hand through his hair, setting off streamers of flame that vanished almost immediately. "Weirdness is a job requirement, down here in the Department of Mysteries. This will be the first time I'm officially an employee, even if I've worked with the buggers here in the past. Unfortunate that I won't get a nice tidy robe like yours, though."

"We're not officially Unspeakables." Moody said at Harry's questioning look. "We're just going to be stationed here. 'Cause this place has some of the most important things to keep from our current enemy. That includes prophecies, artefacts, and you."

Harry snorted at that. "Speaking about prophecies – I'm supposed to pay a visit to the hall today. You'll be around, I take it? Will you be at dinner?"

Moody nodded, stepping back into the entrance hall with the other two on his heels. "If you need me, you can always just send me an owl. Be more careful with what you go telling people – be vigilant!"

"Don't try the owl thing for me, please. I tend to fry the poor things." Mustang said sadly, shoving his hands back in his robe. "Later."

Harry tried not to think of that mental image as he made his way to the white door with translucent blue bubbles floating all over it – the door to the Hall of Prophecy.

* * *

The Hall of Prophecy was much like Harry last remembered it. It was high as a church with nothing but huge towering shelves covered from top to bottom in dusty glass orbs, glimmering dully in the light issuing from candle brackets that spread an unearthly blue light.

In the dim light Harry could just make out the shelf right in front of him – number 53. Many of the prophecy orbs were dull and brown, though some spread a weird whitish glow around themselves.

Without really thinking about it, Harry started walking in the direction he remembered his prophecy had been – slightly down Row 97. There was no sound to be heard throughout the huge room – his steps echoed distantly.

It was eerie enough the last time, but it seemed like the room was even more forlorn and abandoned now that it was actually in use. It took mere minutes to reach the ninety-seventh row and the gap on the shelf was impossible to miss. The shelves themselves seemed identical to last time – somewhat rickety and in need of repair, though Harry knew these were recently replaced ones.

"Mister Potter?" A thin voice spoke, and a thin, short man came shambling out of the darkness, holding up a small lantern. "If you'd follow me, please."

The wizard was barely any taller than Professor Flitwick and even thinner, with few wisps of white hair on his head and a short gnarly walking stick clutched in his hand. He walked with a noticeable limp and occasionally seemed to get his robe in the way. The robe itself was blindingly white, almost shining in the bluish light of the chamber.

"I was supposed to come say hello, today." Harry tried, and the man nodded without turning around as he headed towards the opposite side of the chamber, where Harry had just come from.

"I figured you'd make your way to your lost prophecy eventually, so I cast a small ward to warn me of your arrival. I'm one of the Custodians, of course. We don't generally use names here – far too messy – so feel free to use my title." The man looked backwards with an enigmatic smile. "You've caused quite a stir."

"I have that effect, it seems." Harry said demurely. "This Seer thing that I've got going on is just the latest in a long string of crazy things."

"Yes, we'll have to discuss that in the weeks to come. I've been reading about your Layman's Diagnosis. I find it incredibly unlikely, but never say never in magic, I suppose." They passed Row 70 and Harry noticed a particularly bright shelf to his right – almost all the spheres were shining slightly.

"That would be an Oracle's output," The Custodian said.

"I don't have a clue what you just said." Harry responded, embarrassed. "Layman's Diagnosis? Oracles?"

"A layman's diagnosis is a term we use for those folk who self-describe or are described by layman as a Seer or Prophet. It's common among both wizards and muggles to attribute coincidences to prophetic powers and the professionals here sift out the gold nuggets that actually do have the Sight, however minutely." The Custodian stopped suddenly, pointing at a shelf that was curiously enough largely empty. "This was from a misdiagnosis – the Ministry workers at the time accidentally considered someone a Seer even though our spells didn't pick up the predictions, and a special ward was created to catch them anyway. Turned out eventually that it was a fraudster – but not before hundreds of prophecies of theirs were catalogued. It was that sort of thing that ultimately got us to our current high standards. Don't know if Oracles – that's a type of Seer – ever got misidentified, though."

"Has this happened a lot?" Harry asked curiously as he scanned some of the yellowed labels. "I mean, I've got a hard enough time to convince myself of what everyone's telling me, and here are people who manage to delude themselves into having abilities they don't?"

"You have little to worry about, I believe," The custodian answered. "Your prediction within this very building was fortunate, as there are many spells in place to catch any snippet, since we have a rather disproportionate amount of people with the Sight around. It's not that one that's giving us trouble – it's the tactile foresight that you've allegedly had."

"How do you even know about that one?" Harry wondered.

"It was registered like any other prediction – We also received a coded message from Albus Dumbledore, your headmaster, about this matter – he was quite concerned that it might be a form of possession. It's just sort of confusing to get one out of the blue."

"I suppose visions of the future beat possession, though neither seems particularly pleasant to me right now."

"Yes, well, the fact that it's so far the only such occurrence is even more baffling, given the relative severity of the reported incident. You had echoes of the event in question, correct?"

"I had the same feeling multiple times, yes. Professor Dumbledore concluded that it was some kind of blood burning curse that I was feeling." Harry grimaced. "I should go to the library and look up the counter curse or something, in case it's happening any time soon."

"We have several analysts taking a look – they might have better interpretations. Some of the suggestions have included exposure to some form of extreme magical stress, a vacuum environment, or the injection of particular poisons. Suffice to say none of them are terribly enjoyable." The man shrugged, heading off towards the end of the rows again. "In any case, you have been warned, so you should keep on your toes."

"As if Voldemort's not enough to keep me on my toes already." Harry said with a sigh. The small man twitched slightly but didn't slow down at the name. "There's no chance of this vision stuff being from his side or leaking over, right?"

"He evidently did not call back his forces after your prediction in our building, which would suggest that he did not experience that particular vision. Likely the force of your original tactile prediction was the reason behind the overflow towards him. Employing Occlumency on both ends further separates you, which is advantageous."

"Why do I get the feeling that the Ministry knows more about me than even I do?" Harry said softly. "How'd you even know I learned Occlumency?"

The small wizard rubbed his nose with a blush at that. "Actually, it was sort of an educated guess. Thank you for setting my mind at ease, though – it would've been a hassle to arrange a teacher that had the clearance to know half the things you must know."

"I've only been here a day or two, I've not seen that many secret things yet," Harry responded with a chuckle. "I've not even finished the manual yet."

"I was referring to your connection with Lord Voldemort." The Custodian said carefully, though he grimaced at speaking the name. "That you even have such a connection is considered quite a secret, and I hear you're considered as much of an asset to the Ministry as the Minister himself. I believe the Ministry would've ended up hiring Dumbledore to train you – and what a hassle that would be."

"Dumbledore in the Department of Mysteries, that would be interesting to watch." Harry agreed.

"Considering what happened the first time he came in here, I'm surprised he's still allowed in the building," The Custodian said with a laugh. "I swear, it could've been yesterday, not a good century ago. Where goes the time, eh?"

"You should tell me that story sometime, I think."

"Only if you get yourself tested and certified with the right people. Departmental secrets and all that, right?" the man responded. "Though I have no doubt you'll get involved with the top secret stuff eventually. You're looking at some fun times ahead, m'boy. And coming from a Custodian of prophecies, you can take that as a fact!"

* * *

"What?"

"You heard me," Scrimgeour said with a frown. "Field mission, as soon as you can arrange it. Couple weeks, perhaps. I won't take a 'no'."

"That's insane! He's been here for barely two days, Rufus!"

"He'll do just fine. Get some training in, then put him with an experienced Unspeakable and set him loose. Believe me, Jocelyn, I don't like pulling rank – but this must happen."

"It's completely ridiculous!" Jocelyn Burbidge responded with a snarl. "He's not even learned how the dynamics in the Department work and you want to send him out into the wide world to do the stuff veteran Aurors are hesitant to?"

"You are not the only person who's got contacts among the Temporal Division, Jocelyn. I know that Potter's an important asset. I want the best odds and experience is what he needs most!" Scrimgeour almost yelled at the end, thankful that his doors were impervious to sound, lest Weasley would come storming in. "You underestimate the boy, Jocelyn."

"I am realistic. He's barely a newbie, this isn't right. He'll end up dead, and that's exactly what we DO NOT WANT."

"Put him with the best you've got. Maybe team him up with Alastor Moody; they've got a history together. Pick something relatively easy, if you wish. Just make it happen." Scrimgeour sighed as he dropped into his seat.

"It's a mistake." Burbidge said with a shake of her head, as she headed for the doors. "You might be the Minister, but I've got some power of my own. If this game of yours ends in disaster, you'd better find a place to hide."

"Such wonderful threats." Scrimgeour said with a smile. "You run along now, and have fun. And remember... it's our little secret."

"Oh, stuff it, you old lion."

Scrimgeour was finally alone in his office, rifling through the thick stack of notes that still needed signatures. He sighed deeply. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

* * *

**Author's Note :**

A few of Scrimgeour's quotes are from The Lion King's Scar.

The Custodian, though not blue, has been modeled somewhat after the Guardians of the Universe from Green Lantern.

Mustang's inspired partially by the anime character Roy Mustang from Full Metal Alchemist, a state alchemist who prefers to use fire in combat and wears white gloves with symbols on them to generate sparks which he turns into infernos.

Yes, I am drawing parallels between the Wizarding World War and the Second World War – Rowling's hardly been subtle about it in the books or interviews and we hear far too little about this period of history in the books beyond Grindelwald himself. I hope nobody's offended by the references to the Holocaust (which should be obvious.) but I considered it a rather plausible explanation for some of the muggle-hatred.

As for Avicenna – though I'm basing him on the real-life person, I have added some twists which I consider plausible for a person that's long outlived most of the ignorance of his age. Considering he was an intelligent polymath with an interest in the universe, I'd expect him to keep going in that direction, rather than stuck in the limitations of the 11th century. I considered a traditional Muslim belief system but it seems to me being a vampire would be rather problematic in conjunction with that. (No interest in opening religious debate here, though feel free to curse at me for not going there.)

The asteroid hitting Jupiter was inspired by comet Shoemaker-Levy, which collided with Jupiter about two years earlier than the timeline of this story (1994).


	9. Excursion : The Outside

**Chapter 9 : The Outside**

_Regulations for Employees  
_

Most basic regulations for Ministry employees apply to Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries, though explicit exceptions have been agreed upon with the Wizengamot and current Minister for Magic. The Department of Mysteries itself has an additional list of secrecy-related regulations that are discussed in _1.1 Special Regulations_. Currently, exceptions to standard Ministry regulations include the following:

[...]

_Unspeakables are allowed to use standard issue Unspeakable cloaks to hide their identity in Ministry locations, as well as use codenames and voice distortion spells. Standard punishments for falsifying identity do not apply._  
_Unspeakables who have received permission from the Minister for Magic are allowed to use non-harmful Legilimency while in Ministry locations. '1894 - Statute Against Unauthorized Mindreading' does not go into effect._  
_Unspeakables are allowed free access to restricted areas in Ministry locations, except those restricted by the Department of Mysteries itself (It is expected employees seek permission from their superiors in the latter case.)_  
_Unspeakables are allowed, in extreme duress, to use the 'Unforgivable' curses. Careless use remains highly illegal. All use of such curses is subject to review by the Wizengamot._

Further exceptions exist, but are limited in scope largely to information access and not applicable to all employees. Similar exceptions apply to some parts of the Auror program and Obliviators; all can be found in _Appendix 1_. Please note that any and all regulations are subject to change.

From '_Unspeakable Primer_' Selected Passage, _P. 14.  
_

* * *

_"Deprimo!"_

"Almost got me there, big guy!" Mustang yelled loudly as he flipped head over heels and lightly landed on his feet. "Getting a bit slow in your old day?"

"Could you shut your trap for a minute?" Moody growled, flicking his wand sideward in a wide arc, the spell's broad yellow flash just barely missing Mustang's legs. "You're too bloody slippery."

Mustang smiled broadly, waving his arms loosely, not even aiming. "Come on now, Alastor – you must admit it's a good workout. Maybe if you manage to hit me, I'll send back a spell or two!"

"Won't matter then, you'd be knocked out on the floor," Moody replied. Two more curses barely singed the corners of Mustang's long coat, sizzling out on the floor with bright sparks and plumes of smoke.

"Don't be so sure – I've gotten better, y'know. You've not seen what kind of training I went through that I can even be in the same room as you without burning you to a crisp!" Mustang flipped backwards again to avoid yet another bright yellow slash that hummed dangerously as it passed. "Close one!"

Moody sighed as he lowered his wand. "Fine, you made your point. You're a slippery eel with a nasty bite. Our ace, if we ever need it."

"I'm not nearly as slippery as _her_." Mustang said with a smirk. "I've spoken to Potter about her - you won't believe what kind of –"

"Yes, yes. Keep your suggestive comments to yourself, you're not kidding anyone." Moody scoffed, rolling his real eye. "She's a Kunoichi, what did you expect?"

"A Shinobi in England. When's the last time we've had one of those over here, anyway?" Mustang wondered. "I mean, even the muggles know about ninjas – they're practically legendary. Didn't think the discipline was still practised though – mostly historical, I figured. Made up by the movies, perhaps."

"Oh, they're really around," Moody retorted. "Almost lost an ear to one of them, a few years back. I was on an errand in Tokyo and one of 'em spotted me interrogating a muggle. Figured I was a thief and wanted to go all righteous hero on me."

"I suppose it's a testament to your skills that you're still here, if half the tales are true."

"Yep. Constant vigilance has saved my neck a bunch of times. There's a reason I'm still kickin', you know." Moody groaned as he sat down against the wall of the training hall. "So we've got our assassination type – what do you suppose our medic's going to be like? Haven't heard a tittle about that."

"American, I think they said. I suppose we'll find out," Mustang said as he stretched. "British heritage, I heard. Wonder if he'll have a weird blend of accents? Hope it's someone entertaining, not some old cynic like you."

"Watch your tongue, firecracker," Moody said. "Maybe I'll hit you with the slug vomiting curse for that one."

Mustang winced. "On the topic of colleagues – anything from those no-good students of yours?"

"They're still missing in the States. Haven't heard much about it for a while, but since I've got superiors again, I can't go and fetch 'em. Going on four weeks now."

"It's not that rare though, is it, Aurors not reporting in for a while?" Mustang asked. "Nobody seems really worried."

"They're good wizards, they'll take care of themselves. Most likely scenario is that they went undercover and don't have a good way of communicatin' without being seen. Maybe suspect they're being watched." Moody shrugged. "Have been on a few of those missions myself."

Mustang twirled his wand. "I suppose it'll work itself out. Want to try and kick the fighting up a notch? Your spells against my fire?"

Moody sighed as he got back in position. "Don't torch the place down, now."

Mustang grinned widely in return, an arc of fire stretching from hand to hand like a ribbon, ready for anything.

* * *

Harry had his eyes closed firmly, his face contorted in a grimace as he concentrated on his task. He couldn't slip up. He tried to ignore the blood rushing to his head but it wasn't easy. _'stay focused!'_

"Pretty good!" A tinkling high voice commented and Harry's eyes snapped open. Simultaneously, he forgot his focus and smacked painfully to the floor from his position, sitting two feet high against the wall.

"Don't do that!" Harry yelled loudly as he rubbed his nose which ached from the impact. "You know I can't do it without thinking yet!"

Asami Watanabe looked on amused as Harry scrambled upright with some trouble. "You shouldn't spend so much time on the walls! Until you've mastered the technique, you're just going to make yourself uncomfortable doing it."

Harry grumbled, but didn't contradict his colleague. Almost a month had passed since Harry joined the Unspeakables, and a good chunk of it had been spent getting to know all the people who worked there – some as new as he was. Asami had arrived three weeks earlier, the third member of the new special team that the Unspeakables were setting up, according to Moody.

The first week at the Ministry had been interesting enough – learning the basics of apparition, how to call the elevator and how to send an internal memo – but things hadn't really gotten intriguing until the second week. Several of the people he'd come to know, including Avicenna the vampire, had left on various assignments, and he'd spent some time with Mirrikh: allegedly the Head Unspeakable, though he seemed to defer to Burbidge half the time. Mirrikh apparently thought Harry could do no wrong – the impromptu prophecy when the two first met had secured that friendship.

He and Harry had been assigned welcoming the new recruit – Asami – the second week, but Mirrikh was 'unexpectedly' called away and Harry ended up giving her the tour himself. Judging from the grins he received, this was probably a set-up or a test – he'd never found out if he passed or not. Asami, being the equivalent of a Japanese Unspeakable, hadn't needed much help in any case. She was in her forties, but looked quite young for her age – there was no trace of grey in her elaborately pinned-up bun of black hair – and she was probably the most athletic person Harry had ever met. Every step she took seemed inexplicably fluent, though Harry had no idea what gave him that impression.

Harry smiled slightly as he thought back to the first time he'd seen her after the tour – training in one of the Auror halls, where duels were traditionally fought. The peculiar thing hadn't been that she was there – Moody spent a lot of time there too, after all – but that the entire place was filled by several feet of water – and she was walking daintily on top of it.

Harry had been so gobsmacked – silly in retrospect, considering everything else you could do with magic – that he'd slipped off the rickety stairs and plunged straight into the water below. Harry's embarrassment was complete when Asami used a pensieve to show the memory of his pratfall to many colleagues; in the end, Harry had no choice but to join in the merriment himself.

It had been barely two days later when Harry dared to ask Asami to teach him the spell she'd been using – she'd turned his request down, noting that the magic was quite complicated and that it'd taken her months to master, and she still needed her wand for it anyway. Harry was not exactly the epitome of stealth anyway.

Harry hadn't stopped there and figured that those people that were studying while on the walls and ceiling probably knew something about it – they were, after all, also defying gravity. That's how he ended up running into Asami _again_ – and this she _would_ teach him.

Fortunately, sticking to the wall was easy enough – but going anywhere was quite another, and pesky gravity got in the way, which meant he'd just be hanging vertically down the wall, suspended by his feet. Entirely not what he had in mind, nor what the other people around him were doing. (Most of them were snickering regularly at Harry's beginner's antics, though he had no doubt that they'd had the same problems, once.)

"What're you thinking about, hotshot?" she asked curiously. Asami barely had any accent – whatever English study she'd done, it was quite excellent, as she could hardly be distinguished from a native.

"Just… the past few weeks have been insane. First Avicenna, then you, and Alastor… and let's not forget the Custodians every second day. You're all so much better at things!"

"Poor dear," Asami said with a snort. "Working in one of the most elite institutions in the Wizarding World with experts in their respective fields. What a terrible life you have."

Harry sighed, as he placed a foot on the wall and stuck it there with a quick spell. This was only the first of several steps to getting this wall-walking down – the easy part. He'd only managed to counter gravity a few times, and walking up more than a foot or two was still beyond his grasp. "I just wish I knew what I'm supposed to be doing. It feels like school – I'm learning a ton, but I don't think I'm contributing much. I've been delivering reports from the Cosmos Chamber, but it seems any person could've done that – I barely see why it is a secret. Most of my days are filled training duelling with Moody and various handy spells from whoever has time."

"You should really ask Unspeakable Burbidge. She is, after all, your superior." Asami said, chuckling. "Though I hear you've got a knack for getting under her skin."

"She's practically a Malfoy, It's not a big surprise." Harry grumbled.'

The real reason, Harry reflected, was that Burbidge was irate about Harry's hesitant attitude towards her some-times-removed nephew Draco Malfoy. Harry had delivered the two-way mirror he'd gotten from her the first weekend he was back visiting at Hogwarts – gotten a weird stare from the boy he gave it to, too – but not much had changed since then. He'd informed Dumbledore of the situation – in as far as that man didn't know it all already, as he always seemed to.

Going back to Hogwarts that first time had been weird. He'd only been gone for barely a week, but it felt longer – far longer. Harry had entered with his Unspeakable cloak securely fastened, though many had deduced who he was immediately – the newspaper story about his employment was, after all, still being updated every day with new ridiculous information, and one didn't usually see Unspeakables at the school (at the very least, not without forgetting right afterwards.) In the latest rumour, Harry had apparently been assigned to the Dragonslayer Squadron, a mythical section of the Department of Mysteries that spent its time defeating unruly wyverns and dragons.

Hermione had been disappointed to hear that Harry hadn't visited the Unspeakable library yet – he'd fixed that oversight the next day, looking for ways to counter blood burning curses – while Ron was largely interested in what kind of interesting magic he'd already learned. Harry was actually quite surprised that, for once, Ron –didn't- seem jealous. It seemed, actually, that he had other things on his mind. _'Could it be – nah.'_

Ginny had spent almost half an hour interrogating him on all the tidbits he could share – most of them incredibly vague. When he tried to broach the Seer issue, he felt like he was choking – apparently, that was not something he could discuss without breaking some rule or another. Had he sworn a verbal oath on that? The meetings with the Custodians had included a lot of promises.

Luna and Neville had been mostly absent – Neville had stopped by for a quick chat but was involved in a Herbology project with Professor Sprout – and Luna, well, she was apparently helping out her father with his newspaper, and had locked herself in an empty classroom for most of the day. Harry hadn't had the courage to read more than the cover of that particular newspaper yet.

"You're a million miles away, aren't you?" Asami wondered as Harry roused from his thoughts.

"Just thinking about how much things have changed since I got here. It feels so strange – usually, I'd be in class now." Harry sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Instead, a ninja is teaching me how to climb walls and the best Auror in the country is teaching me combat wizardry. It's surreal."

"Kunoichi." Asami chided. "I've corrected you enough times. Ninja is just the popular term."

Harry grunted as he tried to move up a step on the wall – his back remained on the ground, despite his insistence that it move upwards. Wandless magic, it turned out, was pretty difficult to control, and the only reason that he'd seen quite a few people sitting on the ceiling and walls was because there were a lot of powerful wizards here. All of them with years more experience in using this magic. A deep sigh escaped him at the work he had ahead of him.

"Why don't you take a little time off and try again later?"

"I'm afraid that I'll just fall asleep if I don't keep on doing something," Harry answered cheekily. "Come on, there must be something interesting for me to do around here. Not everything has to rely on knowing special magic."

"You could always visit Angus."

Harry shrugged noncommittally as he stood up. "I suppose he could use a little company. I swear, most of the people here don't respect the janitor. I'm beginning to sympathize with Filch."

"He's not a janitor," Asami chided but Harry had already waved it off. "I know, I know, he's a respected member of staff. He also cleans the archives, so I think he counts as the local Filch. Even has a bloody cat, as I understand."

Harry said his goodbyes as he quickly made his way into the entrance hall. Several of the doors were open and a handful of Unspeakables were talking right there in the hall – probably a team had just arrived from elsewhere.

Harry had seen this a couple of times now – teams of Unspeakables were sent out to study some new artefact, or investigate some mysterious deaths – and inevitably they'd expound on their adventure at every opportunity for the next few days. Rafe Phelan, the werewolf he'd met at dinner that first day, had been quite adamant in his tale about how he defeated forty mind controlled swine with bare hands – though he'd later admitted in private that it'd been three pigs and he'd used a stunning spell. Harry had built up a healthy scepticism about any new wild story he'd heard since then.

Ignoring the group, Harry quickly made his way over to the artefact repository, where he'd visited on the first day with Mirrikh. The items occasionally repositioned themselves – though it was possible that Angus moved them – but a few of the big ones could be used as landmarks to find one's way through.

"Angus, are you here?" Harry called out, fishing his wand out of one of his pockets. _"Lumos."_

Much like the Cosmos Chamber, the lights were generally absent here – some of the items got rather feisty under direct light and Angus, on top of that, seemed to prefer the darkness. Being a half-Goblin might have something to do with that, though.

"I'm here, Unspeakable Potter." A raspy voice came from some distance away. Harry carefully made his way over, dodging several large racks full of gleaming swords and at least three sets of unusually aggressive footwear.

"How's things today?" Harry asked, looking down bemusedly at the diminutive caretaker that was lugging around a small chest. "Didn't get yourself lost in here again, did you?"

"That only happened once," Angus replied with a glare. "It's only because all of you are so very tall. Always looking down on the little people and our problems, aren't ya?"

"You're a wizard, Angus. Act like one. You might not have a wand, but you can knock me on my backside easily enough."

"Whose fault is it that I don't have a wand again?" Angus replied with a sneer.

The Ministry – however lenient it was in the Department of Mysteries – had been unable to bend the rules enough to allow Angus to use a wand like any human wizard could – he fell in an unfortunate cul-de-sac in the law that's prohibiting goblins from owning wands. Had his father been a wizard – rather than an unusually magically knowledgeable muggle – perhaps he'd had a chance. The law considered him a muggleborn wizard - and unfortunately, the law was not particularly friendly towards muggleborns, even now. A small blessing it was, then, that Angus was unusually adept at wandless spells, courtesy of his mother's line.

"The law will be changed, eventually," Harry reasoned. "Besides, I let you use my wand all the time, when nobody's watching. "

"You're the only one who even seems to care around here," Angus said. "At least it's nice to have one or two wizards who can look beyond a little goblin in the blood."

"I've had my fill of racists," Harry responded with a smirk. "I'm close friends with a house-elf, and I'm a half-blood myself – I'd be a hypocrite if I were to dismiss you like trash."

Angus' eyes were unusually moist, reminding Harry uncomfortably much of Dobby when he was on one of this 'Harry Potter is the greatest wizard ever' tirades. Angus' floppy ears didn't help either.

"Any new acquisitions?" Harry inquired, looking around carefully – usually he could spot when something was added recently, due to the pristine casing.

"A pair of cursed manacles," Angus pointed at a small case with a pair of house-elf sized manacles connected with a chain. "It's a pretty old artefact – probably involved in the enslavement of house-elves or similar creatures. Nasty magic."

"Any reason it's not destroyed?" Harry wondered. Usually, as he'd understood, dangerous or lethal artefacts were destroyed or deactivated to avoid future problems. Only the interesting and unique made its way to the archives.

"The Chamber of Thought wants to take a look at it, since it shares similarities to the mental magic that's keeping the house-elves from rebelling. Maybe it can be used to speed up the natural degradation of that enchantment." Angus answered, swinging his small lantern around to the opposite side – Harry aimed his lighted wand in the same direction. "Here's another new find."

Harry stopped in front of the case – it looked empty. "What is it?"

"Enchanted knife. It's pretty much invisible and awfully quick. The most dangerous stuff has been removed, but there's some kind of apparition spell on it that hasn't been figured out yet."

"Apparition spell?"

"It's apparently designed to force a person to apparate in a random direction. Perhaps several at once. Probably very handy, particularly since it's invisible. Unspeakable Watanabe believes it is an artefact made by a Japanese wizard that specializes in her type of magic."

"An assassination dagger," Harry mused. "This is what Rafe brought back, isn't it? I heard he was off to Japan last week. Are you sure it's safe to keep weapons here?"

Angus nodded as he moved towards the room's entrance. "It's quite secure."

Harry passed by the red ring he'd seen that first day. "Any news on this one?"

"There's never news about that one, Potter." Angus answered with a sigh – Harry had been asking for information on it every week, ever since he found out that it could be used to travel through any apparition barriers – the perfect emergency getaway. If it didn't kill you too.

"Never say never." Harry said with a grin. "What do you say about joining us at dinner, today?"

* * *

"Albus." Severus Snape said as he stepped into said headmaster's office, briefly eying the array of magical contraptions that were cheerfully whirring away on various shelves around the room.

"Severus. I hadn't expected to see you till breakfast," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with amusement from behind his half-moon glasses, as he gazed over his curiosity-littered desk. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I… found myself in an unusually reflective mood," Snape admitted uncomfortably . "I perceived that it would be prudent to change my locale for a while."

"Oh, Severus…" Dumbledore started with a sad look in his eyes that set Snape's teeth on edge.

"I traced the symptom to a rotting batch of Myosotis; it will take some hours for the fumes to dissipate entirely. " Snape continued brusquely, secretly relishing seeing Dumbledore fumble for a reply. "I have not, as you like to say, gone 'soft'."

"You felt the need to visit me after an accident in one of your potion laboratories?" Dumbledore questioned with a slight smile. "Are you certain that is all?"

Snape didn't answer for a while, staring out the window without really seeing. Finally, he spoke. "I have not been summoned in three weeks."

"I have noticed." Dumbledore replied immediately. "No attacks have occurred either, thus this could be easily explained as Tom having no immediate need of your presence."

Snape bristled at Dumbledore's use of Voldemort's real name but he'd gotten used to it by now. He took a moment to formulate his racing thoughts. "It's disturbing, given that until shortly the Dark Lord has been acting as if he were somewhat incompetent. I doubted his leadership and I am sure I was not the only one among the Death Eaters, particularly those that knew him before his long-term disappearance. I was starting to doubt his continued sanity."

Dumbledore frowned. "What are you trying to say? Surely not being summoned does not contradict such information?"

"The last time I and the Dark Lord spoke – as we've discussed – he seemed far more like his old self – the only time he'd done so in recent memory. It was also a private meeting with only a few followers. I have retrieved memories of a larger meeting that I was not invited to – the marking of one of our students, as you recall – and upon further review, I have found inconsistencies." Snape frowned again. "I believe the Dark Lord is deliberately feigning incompetence towards a majority of his current followers."

"I see no logical reason for Tom to do such a thing," Dumbledore answered slowly. "It doesn't seem like a very good method of achieving the power he craves."

"We may not know the reason, but if we can for the moment consider the possibility – what does it say about his plans? We have been assuming that his plans as described to the larger gatherings are accurate."

"While he'd working on something that none of his followers know about, and distracting them from it." Dumbledore concluded. "Possible, but it doesn't answer why he would include you among those to whom he shows his true colours. Surely such a deception would not work if you risk exposing it to your greatest enemy? He may believe you loyal, but that does not remove your proximity to myself."

"We are clearly missing something important," Snape observed. "It may be that the Dark Lord is simply confident enough that he does not believe you could stop him, even if you knew."

"That is a most uncomfortable suggestion," Dumbledore admitted. "Before his defeat, Tom was quite adept at subterfuge – he could well have decided to dabble in his old interests and lead us all on a wild goose chase."

"His plans will undoubtedly include Potter." Snape pointed out. "I know you have informed the boy of the prophecy, and the Dark Lord certainly suspects him of knowing it since their meeting in the Ministry."

"Harry is safe." Dumbledore said shortly. "Alastor keeps a close eye on him, and he's among the most capable wizards and witches of our country now. The protection on the Department rivals the most ancient wards of Hogwarts itself after the recent break-in."

"Hogwarts has hosted several teachers with bad intentions for Potter now, Dumbledore. What makes you so certain he will be better off at the Ministry, where there are far fewer certainties?" Snape growled under his breath. "That good-for-nothing brat should never have gotten his invitation, we'd all have been better off."

"Severus, you know what plans Tom was making before he was informed of Harry's new occupation." Albus reminded him. "My assassination has seemingly lost priority now that we no longer keep all our eggs in one basket. I believe that Tom's preoccupation with Harry gives us time – I am convinced that Harry will be fine."

"How can you be so very certain?" Snape asked, but Dumbledore merely responded with an enigmatic smile.

"It is infuriating that you know more about the Dark Lord's actions than me, Dumbledore. Do you have more spies among his ranks that you cannot talk to me about?" Snape inquired glumly.

"I do not know more about Tom's actions than you, my dear boy." Dumbledore said with that infuriating twinkle in his eyes. "I merely know more about Harry than you do. He is a remarkable boy."

Snape scoffed, glaring. "He's a miniature James Potter. I don't need to know any more to know what to expect from him." He looked out the window with a hint of sadness and sighed.

Dumbledore looked on sadly, before he perked up suddenly with a cunning look. "Did you say you were exposed to a whiff of rotten Myosotis, Severus? The Forget-me-not? Did you know that it is allegedly - Oh, surely not…"

Snape sighed deeply, raising his wand in response_. "Expecto Patronum."_

Dumbledore watched demurely as a lightly glowing doe pranced through his office, its soft shimmering light reflecting off his many trinkets. "After all this time?"

"Always."

* * *

Harry spent most of the day in the library, combing through many huge tomes that contained entirely too much irrelevant information, most of it so technically complex that he couldn't make heads or tails out of it. That was, of course, a risk when you were trawling through the archives of arguably the largest library in the country.

It was quickly apparent that without Hermione's knowledge when it came to books, Harry was completely lost among all of these – tall stacks of books littered one of the many long tables that were positioned haphazardly across all three floors of the library. Most of the books were on topics that Harry really didn't want to know about, like practical necromancy and magical fashion trends.

A small pile of books was positioned off to the side – books that were useful and had been consulted already. Most of them were about nasty curses and several were undoubtedly far too dark for the Hogwarts Library to even consider stocking them. He even came across the book that had once been used to figure out the recipe for Polyjuice Potion.

"Come on, work!" Harry muttered as he waved his wand in a complex spiralling shape. He was busily practicing one of the spells he'd listed as important – this one was about conjuring a sphere of air. He'd already figured out a more effective water-conjuring spell and several healing charms for use with burns, but he was being thorough.

It had been the Custodians, as usual, that had gotten him focused on his original vision again – burning alive from the inside – and searching for ways to survive it. Thankfully he'd been allowed to have a quick reminder of the vision as per the prophecy record at the Ministry, and spent some of his evenings looking up the symptoms in dusty medical tomes.

With a sudden burst, several books were pushed off the table and most of the loose paperwork in the room scattered everywhere in a gust of wind. 'Success!' Harry thought and losing concentration for a moment, the sphere dissipated. It seemed the sphere of air worked quite well – as long as you remembered to maintain it. Trying again, Harry was gratified to note that the spell worked like, well, a charm.

The sphere of air was his solution to one of the possible causes of his pain the Custodians identified – exposure to a vacuum. Harry had already figured that the spell could be used in other ways – a full-body version of the Bubble-head Charm, essentially. Perhaps it could be used to blow things away as well?

"Persistent, aren't you?"

The librarian, undoubtedly a relative of Pince's considering the uncanny resemblance – looked disapprovingly at the messy table and scattered papers. "Clean all of this up before you leave. Be thankful you're the only one in here."

Harry nodded and grinned, thinking back to the first time he'd done this – several other Unspeakables had been quite irate when Harry tried out a medical spell against burns and accidentally managed to cover a large area with foul-smelling greenish goo, including those colleagues. He'd ultimately traced the problem to a mispronunciation, but his reputation as a disturber of the peace was established.

Harry, figuring that he'd completed his day's work by learning yet another spell, flicked his wand around to return books to their proper places – a particularly helpful spell he'd learned from the librarian a few weeks earlier. He couldn't quite manage it wordlessly yet, though. The various papers he picked up by hand and left them neatly stacked on the centre table.

Without warning Harry something large and feathery landed in his hair and Harry fell back with a yell, reflexively swatting at his attacker. Said attacker, a rather irate Ministry owl, didn't seem to like this much and nipped him on the hand before dropping off its letter.

"You must be Moody's owl, no doubt about it." Harry muttered as the flying menace swooped away. He'd been attacked by the same animal several times already, but it was outwardly so similar to most of the other Ministry owls the only way to distinguish it from the others was to look for antisocial behaviour it picked up from its master.

Harry unfolded the letter to find surprisingly neat – for Moody – writing. Probably someone had been looking over his shoulder while writing it. It was short and to the point : "Report to Burbidge at eight." No name, of course – that'd probably be considered too much information by the paranoid ex-Auror.

* * *

"Daddy?"

"I'm here, Luna." Xenophilius Lovegood answered with a smile as he spread open the latest of his newspaper, the Quibbler, on his counter. "Just looking at the latest print."

Xenophilius was, as usual in these lazy afternoons, reading through the latest print of the next day's Quibbler, comfortably lying down on his couch by the fireplace.

"You know the date, don't you?" Luna asked smartly, pointing at the paper, as she walked into the room. "I told you about it, remember?"

"Ah, the new story about your boyfriend?" Xenophilius wondered, looking at his daughter with wide eyes. Luna often had information on what went on at Hogwarts before anyone else – she was particularly diligent in tracking leads for a story.

"He's not my boyfriend, dad." Luna replied in exasperation. "Not yet, anyway. He's just a friend, who is a boy. Now, you'd best make a floo-call with _your_friends, or you'll miss the scoop! You've only got a few days, I think."

Xenophilius nodded wildly as he tossed aside his paper and headed over to the fireplace, grabbing a tall spiky ornament filled to the brim with floo-powder. "I'll do that right now – maybe I can also ask about Flying Fuzz Worms, since they're in bloom this time of year – You were talking about -" The man suddenly stopped, wide-eyed, as he slowly turned. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?" he asked with a confused glance around the room.

There was nobody else there.

* * *

"Any particular reason you wanted to meet me here?" Harry wondered as he noticed Moody sitting in his lonesome in Burbidge's office.

"Just sit down and be patient, brat." Moody growled.

Harry plopped down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and stared around the thinly-furnitured room. He'd spent way too much time in here lately. Moody's artificial eye was fixed right on him, which was uncomfortable in the best of times.

"How's your aim?" Moody asked as he too slumped down. "Haven't had a chance to see you at long-range in a while, ever since you started exploiting your apparition."

Harry smirked as he thought back on that – though his apparition for long distances was shoddy at best – and entirely unreliable at the moment – short-range turned out to be pretty easy to pick up – and very handy when there's no apparition barrier in place, such as in inside the training halls. He'd taken to training his short-range apparition to be extremely precise, as it could be an invaluable means of getting out of sticky situations that Moody loved to simulate during training.

Moody himself could do the same thing – and much more quickly – but he'd admitted that the quick jumps were disorientating, particularly with his eye, and that they were decidedly crippling when facing multiple foes, as one's wand would be too busy to keep up shielding spells.

Wandless apparition has been Harry's first idea, but that turned out to be particularly more difficult than with a wand – and definitely out of his league, for now. Moody confessed that as far as he knew, only Dumbledore was capable of it, and even then he preferred a wand. Harry, knowing his luck, added Voldemort as probably capable as well.

"I've been working on it, but it's hard to figure out how good you are without a moving target," Harry answered. "I mean, a real person isn't going to be as predictable as a bludger, which just sorts of heads for you without defending itself."

"I suppose you'd need a real fight, or a battle drill." Moody said, seemingly to himself. "I can probably arrange it."

Burbidge took that moment to enter, looking on disapprovingly as both of her guests sat up straight in their seats. "Unspeakable Potter," She said. "I have been instructed – under protest – to assign you to a Field Mission. Minister Scrimgeour believes that it is imperative that you acquire practical experience – regardless of the risk involved."

Harry blinked several times. "A Field Mission? Like the ones the senior staff have? I'm still consider a temp!"

"What's this about temps?" Burbidge asked with a frown. "You're a fully-fledged member, Unspeakable Potter. Surely you do not believe that the Ministry would hire people as – Ah," Burbidge suddenly stopped with an odd look on her face. "I believe I understand. For your information – Temp is the shorthand for the Temporal Division of the Department of Mysteries."

Harry gulped at that, remembering the rather silent member of that division that had attended several evening meals in his first week, before vanishing to parts unknown. "I thought that the Time Room wasn't in use?"

"It isn't." Burbidge answered. "It will be rebuilt, however. Presumably you will join the Temporal Division sometime in the future. They've got their own way of recruiting, I'm sure you're already on file or something like weird like that. To answer your question – yes, a Field Mission like those long-term employees receive. Usually assigned to people who specialize in a particular field of magic or discipline of research."

"Which would be?" Harry wondered, thinking back to his shortened Hogwarts time and the disjointed spells he'd managed to learn since arriving here.

"Precisely." Burbidge replied. "This is why I was against the suggestion to send you on such a mission – but the Minister was adamant. Barring disagreeing with him on such a significant issue, I have chosen to pair you with Associate Moody here – you've already met – as he has considerably expertise in the Mission I have chosen. It would also be his first mission after re-joining the Ministry."

"Specifics?" Moody asked, and Harry noticed he'd been silent the whole time.

"I believed you would also be interested in this particular task," Burbidge said, as she handed over a folder with some pages of text and two photographs. Moody inhaled sharply as he saw them. "You are to find and retrieve two Aurors who have gone missing on assignment. This was an international mission, thus our involvement."

"I know them!" Harry exclaimed, shocked. "They're the ones I met when I first came here, aren't they?"

Moody grunted at that. "I figured someone would be sent out to fetch them one of these days," he said with a frown. "Awfully little information on what they were doing over there. Reconnaissance? Of what?"

"Aurors Williamson and Proudfoot were assigned a mission in the American state of Washington – reconnaissance of a potential feeding ground."

"Bloodsuckers?"

"Vampires, indeed. Several vampires resembling registered British criminals have been observed in the area, which is why we were flood about it by the American Ministry. At least two muggles and a wizard." Burbidge said, shoving a second pile of papers forward. "The two that have most substantiation are still on the books as human, which means they must've been turned somewhere in the last few months."

"What type of vampire are we talking about?" Harry wondered, thinking back to his manual.

Burbidge nodded appreciatively, gesturing towards the papers in front of her. "Whatever type it is, it feeds on live humans – violently. This would imply one of the several types that are particularly nasty when new-born. Might want to find out what you're dealing with before getting too involved."

"What're we supposed to do if the Aurors – you know, have been turned?"

"Capture, or kill if we're really unlucky and they're Malkavians or something." Burbidge said without remorse. "We have several vampires working for us – it is likely we could rehabilitate them should the need arise. Unfortunately – or not, depending on how you look at it - they'd more likely be dead than vampires, given that they're wizards."

"I assume we're staking out the feeding grounds and tracking them?" Moody asked as he scanned the report he'd been given. "Why is there no separate American inquiry? Are they not concerned about the muggle deaths?"

Burbidge sighed, grimacing. "Unfortunately, a significant portion of the American wizarding world has little or no tolerance for muggles, even more so than here. They are rather hands-off with their handling of crimes that involve muggles – presumably because they've never really had a muggle-wizard conflict of any significant scale."

"You never struck me as the type to stand up for muggle rights," Moody observed with a smirk. "Hypocrisy sneaking through?"

"I may not like them, but I do not tolerate wizarding murder, regardless of the victims." Burbidge said with an angry scowl. "You may recall that I consistently voted for those politicians which would make the muggle-magical separation absolute. That includes any and all involvement with muggles."

Moody shrugged, glancing at Harry. "Not exactly the safest of first assignments, I gather."

"There's no such thing as an easy assignment," Burbidge responded sharply. "It's the best I could do on short notice – no way in hell am I putting a first-timer on artefact retrieval, and I believe we both understand a mission involving conflict with Death Eaters is extremely unwise."

"Still, we'll probably end up exterminating rabid bloodsuckers." Moody said.

"That's why I put you on the team, Alastor. You've got the experience to do this on your own if need be." Burbidge grimaced as she looked over to Harry. "Potter, I expect that you follow instructions to the letter. You are new to this line of work and not nearly educated enough to really be ready for this kind of thing – but you'll have to be. Don't make things more difficult."

Harry gulped and nodded, feeling trapped. He was nervously thinking about the prospect of getting into a close encounter with vampires – if they were anything like Avicenna, it would be a hell of a clash.

"You will leave immediately – lodgings have been arranged in Washington if they are needed. You'll make your way to the feeding grounds via conventional muggle means and covertly scout out the local area before moving in to extract our missing Aurors. If the situation changes, change your actions accordingly – I expect you, Associate Moody, to take point on this."

Moody agreed glumly, no doubt imagining the worst possible problems. He'd probably turn his paranoia up to eleven when actually on the mission, Harry thought.

"You have a time limit of around two weeks, before you are expected to report back here, though that's a maximum. You'll be carrying a small portrait with you that you will report with every day – we don't want to lose you too. Take care of it, as its kind is extremely rare." Burbidge handed Moody a small bag. "If you have no other option, you may request assistance from the American equivalent of Aurors, though I would not bet on much help. Details are in the report. Dismissed."

Harry followed Moody out of the office, thought whirling in his head. "Why?" was the first thing he came up with.

"The Minister for Magic wishes for you to be at your best," Moody observed as he continued reading the report with his real eye while keeping an eye on where he was walking with the artificial one. "He is evidently convinced that you will need practical experience in a short period of time – and considering the resources the Minister has, I would not doubt such a conviction. He is no Fudge."

"I suppose it could have something to do with the attack Burbidge thinks is coming within a few weeks," Harry opined. "She's already told me that I have to lay low when that happens, though."

"I believe the Minister has drawn some conclusions about the prophecy that has gone missing from the Department," Moody noted softly, startling Harry. "I believe he has drawn similar conclusions as I have."

"Which would be?" Harry asked, sounding strangled. Moody knew about the contents of the prophecy? Surely not?

"Oh, don't worry, I don't know what it says. Dumbledore's been less than covert about the fact that he and you know, though. Considering who it was about and Voldemort's wanting to have it, there are few options that make sense. You are the one to knock him off his perch, eh? Make it a two-fer?"

Harry didn't answer for a while, then finally nodded, not looking at Moody. He merely got a grunt in response. "You mustn't tell."

"Do I look like a snitch to you, Potter?" Moody growled, his glare looking particularly menacing as he rubbed what was left of his nose. "Voldemort obviously already knows this, so I don't see why you're so shocked I do. Just be glad the press hasn't caught wind of it, or they'd be callin' you the Chosen One or some such rubbish."

Harry shuddered as imagined that scenario, knowing it all too likely. "Just… it's my business. Let's focus on what we have to do and hope that the Minister's plans don't get in the way of the Order's."

"Eh, that'll be okay, I believe." Moody said, grimacing. "Scrimgeour's always been a bit too quick on the uptake for my liking."

"You don't like people who are dumber than you, nor people that are smarter. Anyone left?" Harry wondered, smiling. Moody scoffed, eying his watch right through his coat pocket. "We've got a couple hours before the Portkey's due." Moody hadn't quite moved out of sight yet as he called back. "For Merlin's sake, don't put your wand in your back pocket!"

* * *

"Very good, Fenrir." Lord Voldemort said with a dangerous smile. "I expected no less, of course."

Fenrir Greyback bowed and backed away, unusually cowed compared to his usual bestial self. Lord Voldemort was perhaps the only person he gave such reverence to. "Thank you, my Lord." The werewolf quickly left the dining hall.

"They'll find out about the pack." Lucius Malfoy said, though without much conviction. He was once again supplying his house for Death Eater meetings and didn't seem particularly overjoyed by the fact. Of course, that he'd switched his imprisonment at Azkaban for confinement at his own home didn't help matters much. "Fenrir's never been very subtle."

"You underestimate the cunning of a properly motivated werewolf," Voldemort responded, ignoring Malfoy's disrespectful attitude. "I have many spies, and there is no sign that anyone's even aware of my actions – not even the old fool."

"He must suspect," Lucius said worriedly. "He is not stupid."

Voldemort twirled his wand impatiently, frowning. "That he is not. He is not likely to underestimate me – though the Ministry might. Dumbledore by himself is no threat – his precious Order barely more so."

"They've stopped several attacks during the summer," Lucius pointed out carefully, hesitating. He was practically openly criticizing the Dark Lord now, and it was a miracle he hadn't been cursed yet. Perhaps it was the lack of spectators. "They've got the manpower to stop us, if they wish."

"The attacks were merely opening blows," Voldemort said, "They were meant to weed out the worst among new recruits, and to gauge the strength of the enemy. You may have noticed we became progressively more organized, requiring more and more force from Dumbledore's Order?"

"I did not think it was intentional, my Lord," Lucius admitted. "Some have questioned your leadership."

Voldemort snarled at that, slitted nostrils flaring. "They are fools. Those who cannot see through such mild deception are not the kind of follower I require. I know whom I can rely on."

"Of course, my Lord." Lucius said quickly.

"Lucius, Lucius, of course you are among them." Voldemort said with a sly smile that looked positively deranged. "You have served me well, even if your last assignment was… less than successful."

Lucius winced as he was reminded of his bungling the mission to retrieve the prophecy about Potter. That he'd been captured had been an additional insult to his dignity. Azkaban, thankfully, was fast becoming a terrible memory. "I will not fail you again, my Lord."

"See that you do not. I require the very best of my allies – and that includes a certain ability to look through the obvious and see underneath. A certain Slytherin mentality that is deploringly absent among many young recruits." Voldemort sighed, making him look uncharacteristically human. "It is unfortunate that Legilimency can be so very harmful, or I would have long since cleaned the ranks."

Lucius stayed silent, recognizing one of his master's contemplative moods, in which he would most likely snap at any responses.

"Preparations are going well – though I am uncomfortably aware that there are missing pieces. What of Wormtail's deception, Lucius?"

Lucius jerked up as his name was mentioned. "He remains in the Ministry building per your instructions. He lives off scraps and is almost done with his task. I received a letter from his just yesterday, sent with a hawk."

"His task is a ruse." Voldemort said, glancing up. "He will have quickly aroused suspicion – that is his task. The ward stone I have him working on hasn't been in use for a decade."

"Why is he there, then?" Lucius wondered. "Distraction?"

"Distraction – or a sleeper agent. I have put him under the Imperius Curse – when a certain situation occurs, he will signal. It will be time to strike, then."

"You really believe we can take over? Just like that?" Lucius wondered.

"I don't believe it. I know it. The board is set, the pieces are moving." Voldemort responded with narrowed eyes. "See to it that know this too. We shall have victory."

* * *

"I've got the Portkey." Moody said gruffly waving a length of rope as he walked out onto one of the balconies that stuck out of the side of the Ministry building – one of the few places that said building was in contact with the outside at all. The whole place was of course invisible to muggles – and indeed, anyone looking at it from more than a few dozen feet away – and covered top to bottom with cushioning spells. "We have about ten minutes."

"What is this place?" Harry wondered, gazing out across quite a nice panorama of London with amazement - he'd barely seen a glimpse of the sky in a week or two.

"You've probably not been here before – this is one of the official long-distance apparition targets. You'll note the blue tiles – they're so you don't confuse one with the others – they've each got their own shade. Since long-distance apparition has a higher risk of splinching and erratic arrivals, it's rather easily recognizable to allow for better focus." Moody passed the length of rope he was holding back and forth nervously. "If the torch there – yeah, there it goes, best stand back-"

The greenish torch on the edge of the platform has burst in flames moments before – the flame was still getting brighter. With a cracking noise that was uncomfortably loud a rather haggard-looking wizard appeared about three feet above the centre of the balcony, dropping to the floor almost immediately and bouncing lightly on the bespelled floor. "Phew, what a rush." He said tiredly in an odd accent as he picked himself up. "Oh, hello there," the wizard said with a smile as he dusted off his robe.

"Everything all right?" Harry questioned, frowning.

"It was just a jump from the Netherlands, no worries." The wizard answered with what Harry now recognized to probably be a Dutch accent. "I would've taken the boat, but it'd just left so I figured I could wait for hours or take a little risk."

"Not much experience in long-distance apparition?" Moody asked, surprisingly openly. "Haven't done much further than France myself – and I felt that for a day or two."

"Oh, I've had plenty of experience – I'm just out of practice. Used to jump from Berlin to Paris biweekly, you know." The wizard waved as he passed them by, resting on one of the benches along the edge of the platform, his gaze briefly lingering on Harry's scar. "Have a good trip, now."

"We're up." Moody said unnecessarily, as he held out the length of rope. The Dutch wizard looked on with fascination.

"Transcontinental? Remarkable." He said, eying the rope. "Well, hope you keep your lunch!"

Harry nodded, though he already felt a bit queasy from just thinking about going along with a Portkey. The last one hadn't left the best of memories. Then again, nobody would be crazy enough to attempt apparition around the world – except perhaps Dumbledore.

Harry was quite literally pulled out of his musings as there was a sudden violent jerk somewhere behind his belly button, as if a hook was plunged in his innards. It didn't quite hurt but it was quite uncomfortable and the confusing kaleidoscope of colours didn't make things any more sensible. Unlike the last Portkey he'd used, though, this one seemed both calmer in terms of whirling around and considerably faster.

The landing was remarkably disastrous. Harry flew out of the vortex like a cannonball, ricocheting off the wall – thankfully cushioned – and bouncing off the floor until he managed to get his legs beneath him and stop himself. Shakily he stood up and turned to look at Moody, who had stepped out completely unfazed and had a bemused look on his face.

"Nobody told you how to use Portkeys, eh?" he asked, before laughing slightly.

"There's ways to use them?" Harry said with a confused look. "Last times I used them they were particularly violent as well."

"Some people get it on their first try, just like Flooing." Moody said with a shrug. "I'd not suggest using Portkeys to unprotected areas – you'd probably end up headfirst into a wall. Probably not a soft one."

Harry rolled his eyes – there wasn't exactly much likelihood of him using long-distance Portkeys anyway, and he sure as hell didn't know how to make the things to practice. "I'm a Quidditch player, I can take a few hits."

"Just make sure you tell someone when we get back. Don't want you barreling into everything every time you use one of the blasted things." Moody said as he gazed around with his twirling eye, his scarred face set in a scowl. "Don't see our welcoming party."

"I knew it would work!" an excited voice said to their left, and Moody had his wand out and aimed within the second. An excitable dark-haired woman stepped into the apparition point. "I've been working on invisibility spells. I've finally found one that works on magical artefacts!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at that – Moody's eye was an artefact? Department of Mysteries style artefact?

"Don't spread that spell of yours around," Moody muttered with a glare. "It'd upset a lot of people."

"Oh, I know," the woman said, reminding Harry rather of the equally chatty Tonks. "I haven't told anyone, of course – that would get me into so much trouble! – but I just had to try it. Just to be sure, you know? I'm sure it'd also work with all sorts of illusion spells, and since you were coming over, well—"

Moody sighed as his whirling eye scanned the area for more traces of wizards or witches, the real one fixed on the woman. "Whirlpool."

"Sandstorm." The woman answered with a smile. "Really, Alastor, you still know our old passwords?"

Moody grimaced, sneaking a glance at Harry. "This here's an old friend of mine. You can call her Maria, I suppose. Don't want to get all formal."

"We probably won't meet again anyway," Maria said with a small smile. "I was in a joint operation with the British Aurors about a decade ago."

"Do you know everyone?" Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I swear…"

"I've worked as an Auror for longer than most, and I've done other things besides, what did you think?" Moody answered. "My impostor might've been fond of painting me as a recluse, that doesn't mean the genuine article's an antisocial jerk."

"Oooh, I remember reading that in the papers!" Maria said with a laugh. "Some plot to capture a young wizard, wasn't it?"

"Me, actually," Harry volunteered with a cheeky grin. "You sort of get used to murderous professors after a while."

"Who're you then?" The woman asked with a frown, then spotted the scar. "Oh, I remember! Harry Plotter, isn't it?"

"Potter." Moody corrected gently, smirking at Harry's gobsmacked expression. "Oh, come off it Potter – surely you didn't believe your story reached all parts of the globe? You might be a living legend in Britain, here in the States you're a curiosity that's old news."

Harry scowled. "I figured with all the people falling over themselves to call me mad or evil, some of it might've made it over here."

"Eh, I heard most of it when I was in Britain those years back. There was a bit of a hubbub about it then even here, but I never really cared what went on given that I had a job." Maria waved absent-mindedly in Moody's direction. "Alastor had the most fanciful tales, you could never quite determine what really happened or what was added for effect."

Moody didn't respond to Maria's insinuations but he looked particularly uncomfortable. Harry briefly considered there'd been more going on between the two – before shoving that particular mental image in the deepest recesses of his mind. Really not good to think about. He shuddered.

"Here's your money," Maria said finally, handing over a wad of dollar bills. "Going muggle, it should take you only a couple days to make it over to your target destination. I'm heading back to work – do keep in touch, Alastor."

"I will," Moody promised with a smile. "I've been meeting quite a few of the old lot lately, might be interesting to get us all together again."

"I'll think about it," Maria answered with a wink before she turned on the spot and vanished with a barely audible pop.

Moody inhaled deeply, taking a swig from his canteen. "Ah, smog and car fumes. No mistaking it, we're in America."

* * *

"Peter!" he cried out, but he received no answer. He didn't stop running – stopping meant death. He swerved between trees, his breath coming in short gasps. "Peter, where are you?"

His legs felt like they were on fire – they could barely keep up his pace and his bruised ankle protested painfully at his callous use of it. He forced himself to keep running, his eyes on the horizon, hoping beyond hope that he could keep going.

There were no answers to his calls aside from the unmistakable noise of running – another pair of feet, far too nimble and quick to belong to any human.

"Oh God, oh man." Proudfoot cursed in between pants. He could see the first buildings in the distance – not civilization, but at least other people – but he knew he wouldn't make it. The one chasing him was gaining quickly and – gone? Proudfoot realized that the constantly resounding sounds of running feet had vanished – he was running all alone. He let out a deep sigh.

"Peter Williamson, you stubborn prick, you'd better survive," Proudfoot said with ferocity, snarling into the dark woods he finally left behind him as he stumbled into some small town. He had to find a place to lie low – the fiends would undoubtedly track him down, considering he was likely the only wizard in miles and wounded to boot.

He barely had time to scream before he was bowled off his feet, falling head over heel to the ground. He looked up in fright, then blinked owlishly.

"Where the hell have you been?"

* * *

**Author's Note : Just to inform the people sending me messages : This is not a crossover fic. No non-HP characters appear in this story.  
**

I've spent some time watching anime, thus some references slipped in, given some overlap between my planned team and the subject of said animated series. I blame Naruto Shippuden for all of this time include : The Shinobi in this story are group of wizards that are largely based on the original myths and legends, though I took the water-walking directly from the anime Naruto.

The Shinobi dagger that's mentioned is also a reference to Naruto – in particular it's a reference to Minato Namikaze's customized Hiraishin kunai. As noted, though, its spell is lost.

Short-distance teleportation is an offshoot of apparition that I envisioned ever since we found out how to train for apparition – if the easy step is short-range, surely this would come in handy in battles for particularly quick individuals?

Several references to HP Canon events beyond book 5, such as the concept of the press catching wind of Harry being the 'Chosen One' – I always considered that to be more fitting to other situations than just after his Department of Mysteries grand tour in book 5.

Next Chapters : _Midnight Hour.  
_

* * *

_**Some possible spoilers, mostly a writing-related rant** : This chapter essentially acts as the end of the first arc, leading directly into Harry's first mission which will be shortly followed by a chapter called The Invasion, so it's obvious that status quo as barely established isn't going to last very long. I wanted to put a little more action into this chapter but I felt that shoving some of these bits into the next chapter would be somewhat weird, given that Harry's storyline is very much miles away from Voldemort's activities and Snape's spying. Draco's been relegated to after this mission, given that his plot currently has the least urgency behind it (he's at school and not expected home til holidays, if then.) Several other important plotpoints such as Harry's 'Sight' and what's going on with the title of this fic will become relevant both very soon and in a chapter or two, once more. The risk of writing a complex story, I suppose - you'll inevitable have to pick and choose what order to get events. The first mission seemed the most pressing given upcoming events. If other writers have experience with how to best approach this issue, I'd like input - I've already decided to cut down on certain storylines I'd originally planned as things would simply get too crowded. Most notable, we see relatively little of Hogwarts-related activity at the moment - with all the Ministry business going on and the Department's various plots and problems, it got rather overly full here._

_Hope you didn't get bored by that, and see you next chapter, or in a review reply. ^^  
_


	10. Excursion : Midnight Run

**Chapter 10 : Midnight Run**

"Alastor, you've got to be kidding me, you look like a walking armory." Harry grumbled as he trudged after Moody, who was trying rather unsuccessfully to blend in with his environment; it wasn't easy considering he was wearing an unsightly green trench coat with at least six stakes lining the inside, several more poking out of pockets, and a long sharp-looking silver machete dangling from his waistband, glinting in the sun.

"We're hunting vampires, it pays to be prepared." Moody muttered back, glowering at Harry's skeptical stare as the two reaches the bus stop, which only had a few Muggles on the other side. "Muggles won't be asking too many difficult questions – and if they do, I have some lines I can spout to make 'em back off. Besides, I know how to make them forget it all."

Harry thankfully didn't draw quite as much attention as Moody - his Unspeakable robes were currently stuffed inside a small moleskin bag hanging on his belt which was considerably larger on the inside – standard equipment from the Ministry. He'd chosen to go with his usual Muggle attire and just put the cloak when arriving at their target, since even Muggles would get suspicious of a fully hidden individual hitching a ride. Thankfully, Harry had quite a bit of experience in acting Muggle to make up for Moody's lack of subtlety.

He had been right to worry about Moody returning to his paranoid behavior while in the field – it turned out to be even more true than he'd expected, actually. Moody had brought every possible vampire-slaying tool one could think of. Wooden stakes, garlic and a wooden cross Harry could understand – those were traditionally associated with vampires, after all. He wasn't sure what to make of the mirror he'd pulled out – or the vinegar. Or a pair of mummified hooves dangling on a string.

"Who're you, Van Helsing?" A man rather reminiscent of Uncle Vernon asked, as Harry carefully positioned himself a distance away from the ex-Auror, avoiding the eyes of quite a few curious onlookers.

"It's just a costume." Moody said, his fake eye staring straight ahead like a normal fake eye would. "I'm going to a convention, y'know."

"Ah, I've heard about those," the man answered, looking rather smug. "I'm not much for that stuff, but to each his own, I suppose? Any interesting tales to tell about who you're dressed up as? Was my guess right?"

Moody was thankfully interrupted from sharing his opinion on historical vampire hunters when their bus sputtered to the sidewalk, looking altogether beat up. Harry quickly boarded and Moody was swift to follow – unfortunately, so did the large man that Moody had been talking to. Harry sighed deeply, fearing what was coming.

He wasn't wrong – for the next half hour Moody exposited extensively on the merits of vampire hunters – though he knew next to nothing about Muggle fiction, he quite convincingly played the part – and his one-man audience seemed delighted.

Harry stared out the window, trying to focus on his mission as his mind kept wandering to other things. His visits with the Custodians weighed particularly on his mind, as they'd been quite disappointed to note that Harry's predictive prowess had dimmed somewhat – he'd only had the feeling of something going to happen a few times, and none of them resulted in any actual predicting. Aside from his violent episode during summer and the life-saving babble when he'd first entered the Department, nothing had happened at all. The Custodians were quite convinced Harry was the real deal, but they were quick to point out that theirs was not an exact science.

It was strange, really. Harry certainly hadn't requested yet another peculiar talent – between parseltongue and a mental connection to Voldemort, he was quite set – but it had been a beacon of hope – after all, this WAS a power that Voldemort knew not – and he could use more of those.

Of course, that led to what was really bothering him – his Prophecy. He was going to end up killing Voldemort – or the other way around. It was as set in stone as anything could be – and yet he was trouncing around the Ministry building and America doing odd-jobs. Sure, he was learning a great deal – but would it be quick enough? Voldemort could only stay in the shadows for so long – the Ministry knew he was back, after all. Harry thought wearily about the fact that he'd be talking this over with Sirius if he could – but it was too late now.

This would all end up in a bloody battle to the death at some point. Would he even be capable of dealing a lethal blow? The only time he'd ever done that – Professor Quirrell – it'd been by accident. This time, it would have to be intentional. Thinking about his dark fate, Harry slowly nodded off.

"Hey, stop dozing." Moody said as he tapped Harry on the shoulder, sometime later. "Next stop is us."

"Really?" Harry wondered as he looked out over a decidedly rugged looking field they were passing. "This doesn't look like Washington to me. Shouldn't there be big buildings and such?"

Moody scoffed as he pulled Harry out of his seat and onto his feet, before steadying himself as the ancient bus shuddered to a halt in the middle of the road.

"There's no bus stop here?" Harry whispered as he stepped out. "Why did he-"

"I just confunded them," Moody answered, discretely slipping his wand back into his sleeve. "You never know."

"It's the middle of the day, if they were vampires they'd burst into flames." Harry pointed out dryly. The bus pulled away again, making a U-turn and heading back at great speed. "How far did you pull them off course to get us here?"

"Oh, a bit." Moody responded with a nasty grin. "There's a good reason why I did that, Potter." He shoved his hat down over his fake eye, which was rotating crazily once more. "You know bloodsuckers can have thralls. Anyone on that bus could've been one."

"I suppose," Harry admitted. "Still, it's not exactly likely, is it?"

Moody ignored that, stepping into the brush alongside the road, his machete in hand to get rid of the thicker undergrowth – they'd apparently stopped in the middle of nowhere. The sound of rushing water could be heard in the distance, in the direction Moody was heading – it was also quite chilly out for this time of year.

"We're near the border with Canada, it's no wonder it's chilly." Moody said with a grin, apparently thinking the same thing he was. "Bit early in the year for hard frost, I suppose, though there's always some snow up the mountains. We're heading a few miles down the river, where the first two bodies were found – it's also where a couple of the British vamps were spotted."

"What's this place called, anyway?"

"Stevens County – it's not too populated around here, though. We're heading for an unpopulated bit of it, in fact." Moody replied. "Place they used to call Young America."

Harry snorted, picking up the pace until he walked alongside Moody. "If it's abandoned, why are we going there? Wouldn't the vampires need to be near people?"

"You'd expect so, yes." Moody answered. "However, the reason Williamson and Proudfoot were sent here was the disappearances as well as what was found – you did read the file, didn't you?"

"I read the first two pages or so," Harry said apologetically.

"Eh, those things are too dull, I'm aware of that," Moody said with a wry smile. "At least fifteen people have gone missing here over a period of three months - only one of them was found, dead. Sucked dry."

"You think they are keeping their own private food supply." Harry deduced. "It's not exactly the stealthiest tactic, though."

"They're probably building up a stock – most likely they're setting up a new clan here," Moody said with a sharp look around the decidedly unthreatening forest. "Definitely not European ones, at least, if that's the case."

"Great, it's definitely not the civilized ones," Harry muttered darkly. "That just sets my mind at ease."

"You know your spells, Potter? Fire will work well enough, and cutting curses will work if you make 'em strong enough. Concussive spells to knock them away would be another option - plus you can always banish some sharp branches at them for a quick and easy solution." Moody twirled his wand and smiled cheekily as he poked his hat with the wand. "You've been using this kind of thing for weeks in our little practice sessions."

The sound of the river was getting quite loud now – Harry had no idea which one this was, but it was definitely large. The trees were also getting sparser – and finally, there was a glimmer of water in the distance.

"Columbia River," Moody pointed out. "It's said to have Kelpies in it, though I hear there's quite a few wizards 'round these parts, which means they don't have a local Nessie story here. Though I do believe there was an incident with an ogre that got a little out of hand."

Harry tried to make out the distance to the river, casting a mild warming charm on himself as once again felt a chill from the wind. If this was the day, the night would probably be unbearable. The first structures of a small town came into view – they looked rather dilapidated and old and most of the paint was coming off. "What are these buildings, then?"

"It's a ghost town." Moody said before Harry could ask. "There's a lot of those around here – some of them truly haunted, most of them just abandoned by the residents. I believe this one was a lead- and silver-mining town that got left behind early this century."

"Everyone just left?" Harry wondered. "So nobody lives here, anywhere?"

"There's bound to be some people up and down the road, but all this? Might as well be trash. The perfect place for a predator to set up shop and snatch the natives, if you ask me."

Harry followed Moody as they passed several more derelict buildings – Harry saw a rotten ferryboat in the distance, and what remained of a sawmill, several corroded circular blades laying besides the door in a pile. The place was a mess.

"Listen," Moody said suddenly, halting Harry with a gesture. "I got instructions – you're supposed to be here without drawing too much attention. The Muggles don't matter – they've already forgotten. You'd better suit up before anyone else comes by, though."

Harry nodded and he pulled his Unspeakable Cloak out. "Why didn't you get something like this? You're awfully distinctive."

"Everyone knows me even under most disguises, because of the damn leg." Moody said brusquely. "I'm a known asset, as they say. You're the unknown. That's how it's going to be, for a while at least. You'd best avoid letting anyone know who you are – put on that voice charm, to be sure – and you'll just use some alias."

"That will be weird," Harry muttered, fitting the hood snugly over his face. A quick application of a little voice modulation later and he might as well have been anyone. "I'm not used to this whole incognito cloak-and-dagger stuff. Almost nobody wears the hood in the Department."

"Of course they don't," Moody answered. "The Department of Mysteries is safe. It's home. You don't walk around your own home and hide your face from colleagues."

"Unless you're in temporal," Harry muttered in response.

"Now, just remember – you're just an Unspeakable. No name. Even if we meet our targets."

"Really?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow that went, of course, unnoticed under his enchanted hood. "I can't say hello to Proudfoot and Williamson? They already know I'm an Unspeakable. Heck, everyone knows thanks to the Daily Prophet…"

"What nobody knows is that you're in the field." Moody pointed out. "My presence isn't a big surprise – I've been on the list for a while, and I've certainly got the experience. You're the odd one out, here."

"I suppose I'll just do my little acting thing again," Harry said, followed by a groan. "It was hard enough to be harsh with the press – at least Rita Skeeter was there to get me angry so I could do it without stammering. "

Moody sighed deeply as he looked worriedly at the position of the sun. "We should be seeking for signs of our missing Aurors or any vampire activity. Corpses, maybe."

"Joy."

* * *

The next few hours were spent going back and forth across town, trying to find anything of note. So far it was a bust. There was nobody in the village, there weren't even any vampires lurking around in the shadows. It appeared to be, in fact, exactly the kind of ghost town that it was supposed to be.

"Are you sure this is the spot?" Harry asked for the third time that hour. It was infuriating – Moody was far too tense to go into any serious conversation and the village was turning out to be so much rubbish. "We've been going around for hours – maybe we should take a break?"

Moody sighed as he looked again at the sun. "We've got little sunshine left – we've got to get somewhere safe."

"Ah , come on, the vampires might come out in the dark – at least it'll give us something to do." Harry joked.

"Don't kid about that crap." Moody retorted angrily. "Vampires can, and will, slaughter anyone they come across. You'd best have your wand ready. I think we can hole up in one of the farms and just lock up all the doors."

"That'd stop a vampire?"

"No, but it'd give us warning," Moody said with a macabre laugh. "There's a couple variants that need to be invited, but most would just bash the door in. Either way, we'd know they were there."

It took about half an hour to barricade themselves in one of the rather run-down houses. Moody had spent the next hour showering the structure with measures against vampires – there was a distinct smell of garlic in the air. Harry spent the time catching up on some much-needed sleep.

It was somewhere far after midnight when Harry awoke – he could see the sliver of the moon through the window. He could make out little of the outside world from between the cracks of the planks covering most of it. The house creaked and groaned faintly, reminiscent of the Shrieking Shack.

"Alastor?" Harry asked in the darkness. He didn't hear the old Auror nearby, but the man could be quite stealthy. Nobody answered.

Harry walked over to the dreary hallway, squinting to make out things in the darkness. He quickly cast a Lumos charm and used the soft light of his wand to make his way towards the only other room that was in decent condition. "Where are you?"

A muffled sound came from the direction of the front door and Harry tensed up, his wand pointing ahead of him as he made his way over. "Who's there?" Mentally he recited the incantations for fire and cutting curses.

"Let me in!" It was an unfamiliar voice, certainly not Moody's. Harry quickly backed off, his wand aimed at the door. He nearly leapt through the roof when he backed directly into Moody who'd apparently managed to sneak up on him. He motioned for Harry to speak, his wand aimed at the door.

"Who are you?" Harry asked with the harshest tone he could manage – talking with a different voice than normal was still strange to his ears.

"Peter Williamson, I'm looking for a safe place to spend the night. I saw the barricaded windows and knew someone else was out here, finally." The voice answered, sounding strained. "Do you have any food? I'm all out and I haven't eaten for days."

Harry made sure he didn't make any noise that would suggest recognition. One of the two Aurors they were sent to find found them on the first night! "What're you doing out in the middle of the night? Surely you are aware this area can be hazardous after dusk."

"I just said, I saw the barricaded windows." The voice answered. "I saw a light flickering from behind them, too. A light charm, wasn't it?"

Harry cursed his thoughtlessness, trying to remain composed. That was most definitely a rookie mistake to make. Moody didn't react. Harry steeled himself as he spoke again. "Are you alright, Auror?"

"I'm fine," Williamson answered, apparently sitting down on the other side of the door. "You're from the Ministry, aren't you? Sent here to fetch us."

"Us?" Harry questioned.

"I lost track of my colleague, Proudfoot. He's out here somewhere, but I haven't seen him in a day or two." Williamson answered. "We've been stuck here for a while."

"Why didn't you apparate away?"

"They took our wands," Williamson said, exhaling loudly. "We were attacked the fourth day here – got torn up pretty well, too. Managed to stake a few but not before they disarmed us."

"The vampires," Harry concluded grimly, glancing at Moody. "Any idea what kind they are?"

"Dire Vamps, definitely Dires." Williamson answered with a sniff. "Completely consumed by blood lust and terribly devious. Nasty critters."

"Please remain calm, Auror, while I discuss with my colleague what we'll do about you."

"No need." Williamson answered, and suddenly the door blasted open, slamming violently through the hall into Harry and throwing him back across the floor. "I can let myself in."

Williamson looked entirely unlike how Harry had last seen him – his hair was tangled and dirty, his eyes reddish with large dark bags under them, as if he hadn't seen sleep in weeks. That wasn't the most important difference, though. A mouth full of dagger-like teeth dripping saliva marred the formerly handsome face. "Vampire!"

"So I am," Williamson agreed, before pouncing on Harry with incredibly speed, knocking away his hand and lunging for his throat. Moody charged forwards, his wand firing off incendiary curses without any incantation. Harry threw himself sidewards, just avoiding being tackled by the vampiric Auror and he smoothly made his way back onto his feet, his wand aimed and ready. Williamson, however, wasn't done.

It hadn't taken more than a moment or two – Moody was already setting fire to the floor under the vampire's feet as Williamson grabbed Harry's robe and dragged him out of the house without even noticing his victim's frantic flailing. He was _fast_. Curses impacted against the vampire's back but he barely seemed to notice the concussive blasts.

Harry cursed repeatedly as he was carried away at an astonishing speed, Moody quickly vanishing from his sight. He still had his wand, thankfully, and tried unsuccessfully to hit the man's ankles with a severing charm while ignoring the pain in his limbs from striking the ground repeatedly_. 'Diffindo!'_

Williamson snarled, madness plain in his bloodshot eyes as he smashed Harry against a tree, knocking the wind out of him. Harry thrashed feebly against his far sturdier opponent, his wand still grasped tightly in his fist. It was about time to try out some of the spells Moody had been teaching him.

"_Incensio Terum!"_ Harry said under his breath, slamming his free hand into the vampire's chest as he aimed his wand at it. With a flash of light and a wave of heat his hands burst into flame, the fire immediately starting to consume the vampire's clothes, forcing him to stumble back. Harry quickly waved his hand to get rid of the flames - It would start to burn him too before long. With a twirl he aimed his wand dead-center at his enemy. _"Fidus Attingo!"_

With a startled cry Williamson suddenly vaulted backwards, slamming his own back solidly into a tree with a garish snapping noise as the white light of the spell faded. Harry didn't wait for the vampire to get up. Williamson was quickly tied up in ropes with a muttered _"Incarcerous." _

"Well, that was easy," Harry said with a smirk, panting. Williamson snarled but couldn't get anywhere. Harry sighed deeply as he made his way over, rubbing his back where he had hit the tree. Williamson didn't seem particularly interested in talking – he was openly staring with hate in his eyes.

"I don't suppose you could tell me where Proudfoot is?" Harry questioned, making sure his robe still covered his features. "Has he also been Turned?"

"I'll tell you nothing, Unspeakable." Williamson answered, glowering. "You have forfeited your life by setting foot in my territory!"

"You've become quite a bastard, haven't you?" Harry questioned idly as he levitated the wrapped up body besides him and headed in the direction he'd arrived from – the vampire had been incredibly fast, so they could be miles away from the hide-out by now.

Williamson refused to answer, muttering curses under his breath constantly. Harry became uncomfortably aware that he was lost – the trees looked the same and the buildings in sight were not ones he recognized. Moody wasn't around either – given his eye, that man would've found him right away had he been anywhere within a mile radius.

Harry sighed deeply as he looked indecisively at his new prisoner – the ex-wizard was still glaring balefully .

The recently turned Auror obviously wasn't in his right mind. He remembered his job if his little charade at the door had been anything to go by, but he'd then charged blindly inside, and only managed to evade getting slaughtered by Moody through being incredibly fast and lucky. There were several types of vampires that had insanity as a defining trait – all of them extremely dangerous.

Harry suddenly realized that we was awfully exposed – he was in the middle of a forest far from civilization in the middle of the night, and there were definitely more vampires around. His cloak would serve as a decent camouflage – but it wouldn't cover Williamson. With a curse Harry disillusioned the vampire, hoping nobody had noticed the slip.

This was definitely not what he'd signed on for in the mission – these vampires were way beyond his skill, and he'd only managed to tackle Williamson by the fact that he'd apparently forgotten that wizards used wands and disarming him. Insanity again?

Harry's musings were interrupted by a low growling noise from the night – he couldn't pinpoint direction but it was definitely not coming from Williamson. His wand was ready in hand, but nothing showed itself. It took nearly fifteen minutes for Harry's heart rate to drop to acceptable levels.

Between having no clue where Moody was and being decidedly lost himself, Harry was weighing his options – he could continue through the night with his prisoner, but he'd probably end up running into other vampires, and he wasn't convinced the ropes could keep the vampire down if he really wanted to get out.

Harry finally decided to just wait out the night, taking Moody's example. He strode to one of the smaller double households along the road and barricaded the door; there were no large windows, thankfully. He dumped Williamson in the otherwise unoccupied basement, layering on a few more layers of rope and stunning him until he finally seemed unconscious. He didn't know half the spells that Moody used to protect the house – but then, that hadn't worked the first time around either.

It wasn't even half an hour before Harry began hearing something abnormal – the sounds of footsteps, despite the fact that, yes, Williamson was still very much tied up and unconscious. He quickly traced the sound to the wall – was there someone in there? Had someone else already tracked him down?

The building next door had been locked up, and Harry had given it no mind. Apparently, someone else was waiting out the night – though definitely not Moody, who'd have recognized him through the wall.

There was only one other person that was bound to be out here.

"Auror Proudfoot?" Harry asked as he knocked on the wall, trying to sound calm. What were the odds of running into both of the targets in one go?

"Who's there?" a voice answered, sounding terrified. "Go away, I'm armed!"

"I am Unspeakable-" Harry briefly panicked as he hadn't thought of a codename to use – finally he just went with what came to mind first. "Prongs, representing the British Ministry of Magic."

"Oh, thank God." Proudfoot answered. "I've been hiding out for days now - I didn't think anyone would come. They don't let anyone leave, here. During the day, Muggle thralls block the roads out and at night they hunt… I don't have a wand, I don't have a way out!"

"Please remain calm, Auror. What do you know of your colleague?" Harry knew full well what had happened to Williamson of course, but he was curious as to what Proudfoot would have to say.

"He was… taken, early on. We were studying the remains found, trying to determine what kind of bloodsucker did it, when we were assaulted by four of them – dire vampires. One of them recognized our wands and they got rid of them right away, leaving us defenseless. We managed to take out a few of them with our backups, but we were overwhelmed."

"Did you see the British vampires that were spotted in the area? Can you verify their identities?"

"The big blond one is definitely here," Proudfoot answered. "I think he's a European Vampire. There's a couple female ones, too – no idea about those. I thought I saw an old Dire, but I'm not sure."

"How many remain alive?"

"There's at least two or three of them left," Proudfoot responded nervously. "I don't know if all of them came to nab us that night. We shouldn't have been out after dark – it was stupid. We got nearly killed because of our overconfidence."

"Our mission is to retrieve you two and to help you finish your mission. The capture or death of the British vampire is what yours turned into, right?" Harry asked. "Four of them should be no match to the three of us with wands."

"Our? Three? Who else do you have out here?" Proudfoot questioned, tapping on the wall from the neighboring home.

"I am afraid I have some bad news," Harry said with a frown. "Auror Williamson was taken and Turned – I captured him earlier. He's quite delirious and aggressive. He tried to snatch me from a previous hiding place where I was waiting for the sun with a colleague."

"Where is that colleague now?"

"Probably waiting for the sunrise elsewhere, or still out searching for me. He can take care of himself, though. I'm certain you are familiar with Associate Moody?" Harry felt weird using Moody's new title – maybe he could convince Scrimgeour to give him a snappier one?

"You're here with Moody?" Proudfoot asked, sounding somewhat elated.

"He's out there, somewhere." Harry responded, relaxing. "I'll meet up with him when the sun comes up. You can come along."

"Oh, that won't be necessary." Proudfoot answered. Harry's eyes went wide as he jumped back from the wall, realizing this was far too familiar. He cursed at himself for falling for the same trick twice – with an almighty crash half the rotten wall came tumbling down, the slavering ghoul that was left of Auror Proudfoot stepping through, brandishing what was most definitely a wand.

Harry swore at his stupidity as he threw himself behind a table, flipping it on its side. He'd managed to send two concussive blasts into Proudfoot's chest before the vampire charged, knocking the vampire back through his entrance hole with a snarl. At the same time loud roars of fury resounded from the basement; his prisoner had woken up. Great. Time to get drastic.

"_Bombarda!"_

With a resounding crash the entire side of the building came crashing down – the house, flimsy as it was, was completely infested with woodworm and couldn't take the stress. With a burst of speed fueled by pure panic Harry rushed out of the collapsing home, at least one snarling vampire on his heels.

Harry cursed his own inattentiveness as he snapped off cutting curses and concussion charms, managing to knock Proudfoot over briefly – the vampire was up and on his feet within moments, though. He'd been tricked by these bastards twice now – it was time to get serious. They were insane, and definitely out to kill him. Time to pull out the big guns, as Moody would say.

"_Lacarnum Inflamarae!" _Harry shouted, aiming his wand over his shoulder as he kept running. The almost unbearable heat that briefly felt like it'd set his hair on fire definitely confirmed it'd worked.

A fireball the size of a small car rushed at the pursuer with incredibly speed – Proudfoot had mere moments to avoid the spell and only managed to avoid the centre of the blast. With a yowl the wizard landed on his behind, partially singed. Harry didn't stick around to find out what he'd do next.

It seemed mere seconds later that Harry was again trailed by the Auror – but this time there were two people in hot pursuit. Williamson had gotten out. Another fireball made its way over, but this time Proudfoot didn't even hesitate – he plowed right through, a pale blue glow visible on his skin as it passed. A flameproof charm.

Harry cursed as he realized that unlike Williamson, Proudfoot was quite capable of using magic – and the stunners now flying past him were particularly unhelpful. Wizarding vampires, he recalled, were both rare and powerful – precisely because they were capable of covering their weaknesses with magic. He was a trained Auror – Harry could not possibly beat him. It didn't help that Harry had no idea where he was going or where he could find Moody – he didn't even recognize where in town he was. The only point of reference he had was the distant gurgling of the river.

Harry managed to clip Williamson with a fireball – that vampire, at least, didn't have his own spells to rely on. Neither of the two seemed interested in saying a word ever since they'd stopped acting innocent – they were slobbering like rabid lunatics now.

Harry felt the burn of the extended run in his legs – he was definitely going to have to end this chase soon, one way or the other. Harry contemplated briefly that he had extreme options in case of emergency – but he had no idea if the two newborn vampires could be rehabilitated or if they'd be stuck like this – and like hell was he going to be responsible for a pair of dead bodies on his first mission.

A nasty cutting curse glanced along Harry's hand, almost making him drop his wand; he managed to hold on to it with his fingertips and bit through the pain. "Need a distraction." He muttered, looking around frantically – the forest looked the same as any other part.

"_Expulso_!" Harry incanted, managing to knock both vampires off their feet. Suddenly, Harry realized with dread that the two were moving at his speed – nowhere near the speed that Williamson had originally grabbed him at. They were _toying_ with him!

Harry was distracted from his panicked conclusion by a new voice. "Well, look what's got our renegades all bothered," It said with a sharp, uncomfortable laugh.

Harry slid to a halt as he almost ran headfirst into what was most definitely a third vampire – a tall blond-haired man with hooked eyebrows. Something about him reminded Harry strongly of Avicenna – European Vampire, then. Williamson and Proudfoot had stopped some distance away, both with blood red eyes and drooling, but keeping a respectful distance. This was doubtlessly the target, though he couldn't be the one who turned the two Aurors by virtue of being the wrong type of vampire.

"They're quite unsightly, aren't they?" The blond said with a slight smile and a familiar British accent, though Harry couldn't quite place it. He concentrated on getting his breath back, somewhat thankful that he hadn't just been slaughtered by the insane pair. The new vampire didn't seem to notice Harry's distraction. "Newborns tend to be that way – particularly Dires like them – volatile, thirsty, very powerful."

"What do you want?" Harry asked in as steady a tone as he could manage.

"What is a cultured vampire like me doing with such beasts, I'm sure you're wondering," the blond said, ignoring the question. "Let's just say that I have need of some of their … unique characteristics. It's of no concern to you – you will be dead."

"What did you catch today, brother?" Another voice said as a fourth vampire emerged from the shadows. "Why, that's an Unspeakable robe! Where'd you steal that one?"

Harry didn't answer, looking for a way to escape – but he couldn't find any. "Who are you?"

The second vampire laughed, moving fully into the scant moonlight. He had a slight sheen of whitish hair on his head, but he was almost completely bald – his face was contorted into a snarl and unlike his 'brother', he had a full set of razor-sharp teeth – the same type as Williamson and Proudfoot, no doubt. His face bore deep furrows and lines, as if he had spent centuries worrying. He was wearing what Harry instantly recognized as an old and faded Unspeakable robe, much like his own. "Surely an Unspeakable such as yourself should recognize my face? Surely you, if nobody else?"

The blond vampire snorted, pulling a hair through his short curls. "They've all forgotten you, of course. A black page in their history, a darkened patch. Undoubtedly it's a secret locked in the deepest vaults."

"You do not recognize me, do you, Unspeakable?" The balding vampire wondered. "It's remarkable how much is forgotten over time. It's sad, really – we of the eternal race maintain the knowledge over eons, and you squander it over decades…"

The blond vampire glanced at the two hungry Aurors that had slowly crept closer, intent on carnage. With barely a twitch he had a long wand out and aimed at them. "_Incendio_."

The result was gruesome – the spell was far stronger than Harry had ever seen it, burning through Williamson and Proudfoot's flimsy defenses almost instantly, sending them both to the ground in flames – though they were both still twitching, still alive.

"That is your punishment for your escape, underlings." The bloodsucker turned to Harry with a smirk. "These two fled their confines - one of them had hidden a wand in the most unlikely of places. You didn't have anything to do with that, did you, Unspeakable?"

Harry still hadn't responded much to the vampires – mostly because he had no idea how to get out of this mess. He felt decidedly unprepared for a meeting with a gathering of apparently notorious vampires.

"Let me relieve you of that bothersome stuffy cowl of yours," The blond said, sending Harry into an immediate panic. He had no glamours on to hide his identity!

With a sharp tug Harry felt his hood fall away, exposing his face to the chilly touch of the night. A swift intake of breath resounded – Harry briefly wondered if vampires really needed to breathe – and he was smashed against the floor with a single blow. "YOU!"

"Calm yourself, Caspian." The white-haired bloodsucker said with finality.

"It's HIM! He can't be here, it's impossible! He's _human_ and he's here!" Caspian replied, his decorum apparently gone in the blink of an eye. "He can't be!"

"Think rationally. Are you certain this is the one you mean? Did he kill your wife? You must be certain or you are merely a murderer. No better than your filthy kindred."

"He has the hair, the eyes, and the freaking lightning scar! That can't possibly be a fluke!" Caspian snarled, glaring down at Harry who was incapable of moving even a finger with the extreme strength of the vampire holding him. It made Williamson's grip feel feather light.

"He is clearly a mere boy. Unless you are declaring that this, despite evidence to the contrary, is one of our undying race, I see no possible way in which this could be the same individual." The balding vampire looked down unemotionally. "Save…"

"Save what?" Caspian snapped.

"He wears the robes of my old profession. The one who killed your wife may be what this person will become. We may be meddling with the hourglass of time, here."

Harry's look of shock was only eclipsed by that of Caspian who blinked repeatedly as he studied Harry. It didn't take long for the look to change into one of hate.

"Then I'll kill him! Slaughter him here and prevent him from becoming that person!"

"You cannot." The other vampire responded immediately. "It's already happened – you cannot change what already happened by altering things here and now. One way or another, someone will return back in time to kill your wife – killing this boy would merely ensure that you murdered an innocent. Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time."

"You don't seem to have much of a problem with killing anyway," Harry whispered, trying to take deep breaths and looking at the two crumpled Aurors as Caspian's monstrous strength restricted his airflow. The vampire growled under his breath.

"You really do not recognize even me, do you? I have remembered you now… You're new in the Department – you've not even been inducted in the true secrets yet, I imagine. Remarkable to see you in such a state. I know of your reputation, of course…" The balding man laughed thinly, his bright green eyes sparkling merrily as he caressed a silver signet ring on his hand. "You have so very many things to look forward to… so very many terrible and great things."

Harry shivered at the realization that this man – these men, even – were aware of far more than he'd even guessed at. It seemed his job at the Temporal Division would be quite a bit more exciting than he'd realized. He wondered briefly if the chill that ran down his spine was fear finally piercing his iron will. With a start, he realized that the chill was more – a peculiar and eerily recognizable feeling came over him, and he felt his fear slipping away. Icy cold and sluggish resolve took over – divination!

The images that came to him were disjointed and unclear as before – though definitely easier to make out. He recognized Caspian and the other vampire – though with far longer hair – and Moody. Words came up unbidden. _"The end for thy will come by elder and ash." _

Harry noted that the balding vampire had gone even paler than he already was, though Caspian didn't seem to even listen, frowning in confusion. The cool, oddly unfeeling calm dissipated, whatever interpretations he'd come up with fleeing. He would have to think about it later.

For a few moments, nobody spoke – the white-haired man finally nodded at Harry, seeming oddly respectful. He gazed briefly at his ring, as if contemplating it. Harry couldn't get a good luck, but it seemed familiar. Some shape within a shape. "Our experiments here are done – we will be gone by dawn. You will find the bodies I used at what was once the sawmill – do with them what you will. You'll be seeing us again, I'm certain." The old man turned around with a flourish, apparating away, swiftly followed by Caspian who threw Harry fully to the ground, his eyes flashing red.

That left the two new-borns – one of them whining pitiably as he scratched at his burned face, the other lying eerily still. Neither seemed to have any strength left in them to pose a threat – knocked out by a single spell, where Harry had barely managed to dent them with his most powerful. He finally set aside thinking about the implications of his run-in with his future and levitated the two wounded vampires along, his eyes scanning for any landmarks or signs of the other vampires returning, slowly making his way towards the river. He was remarkably certain that any and all signs of vampire activity would be gone if he went and took a look.

* * *

It was nearly half an hour later when he finally caught up with Moody, who was hurrying through the forests at an incredible pace, sweeping out large areas with his eyes. It seemed Harry's kidnapping had spooked the ex-Auror quite a bit as the man visibly had to calm down in relief as he saw Harry approach and they exchanged passwords. Harry hadn't bothered to put his cowl up again and sighed deeply as he slumped down next to Moody.

"That was one hell of a first night," Harry commented as he dropped his two captives to the ground, both now unconscious.

"What the hell happened out there?" Moody asked, staring at the two vampires. "Williamson and Proudfoot both got turned? Where's the sire?"

"Gone, now." Harry said with a frown. "He talked to me, if you can believe it. He was civil about it, too. Apparently, he knew some things about my future. I think I need to talk to those Temporal guys when we get back."

"You met Caspian Trenton?" Moody inquired, his eye whirling in its socket to look for the vicious vampire.

"Yes, though there was another that seemed to be in charge." Harry said, frowning. "He didn't say his name, but he was quite surprised that I, as an Unspeakable, didn't recognize him. I think he might've been an Unspeakable from long ago. The robes certainly looked like mine."

Moody ushered Harry along towards the house he'd originally been abducted from. "I've put three times the protective charms on the building, it should be safe now – but you won't be leaving my side for a second till we get back, you hear?" Moody grumbled under his breath. "Constant Vigilance!"

Harry nodded weakly, smirking at the ex-Auror's antics as he bolted the door closed behind them, casting sticking charms and locking charms all over the door. Nothing like a near-death experience, even someone else's, to get the paranoia flowing.

"They're gone now," Harry pointed out, noting that the sun would be coming up within an hour or two. "Between the Aurors and us, they probably realized their little operation here was compromised."

"How are they?" Moody wondered, walking over to the two unconscious vampires – Moody had put several heavy stunning spells on them to keep them out cold. "Did you do the burning?"

"It was a punishment from their makers. Apparently they ran away from Caspian and the bald guy. I assume they tried to get help but they got so hungry that they couldn't think straight – only about getting food, apparently. Proudfoot attacked me as soon as he realized I was alone and vulnerable."

"He did speak the truth about there being a Dire, then?" Moody asked, shoving Williamson with his foot. "They don't have the look, but they're young, I suppose. They've got the teeth right, though."

"Let me guess, little to no hair, bright eyes and wrinkly pale skin? Looks like a dried up prune?" Harry thought out loud.

"That would be them," Moody said. "Not too many that survive to old age – you might want to inquire with your superiors. You have a shot at having the clearance for that sort of thing. They've got an official name and number and all that but nobody remembers that stuff."

Harry nodded, frowning. He was thinking back to that moment, there, where he'd once again tapped into whatever divination talent he had. Harry was uncomfortably aware that his prediction, what he remembered of it, was about death. Between feeling his own imminent death, seeing the impending death of a family and this, an uncomfortable pattern started forming.

"We should get in contact with home and tell them what happened. Get someone to clean up any bodies. We're not going to catch those two bloodsuckers this time, I'm afraid."

"This'll be a grand report," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Day One, get ambushed by vampire, escape, get ambushed by another vampire, escape, get ambushed by two _MORE_ vampires who decide to take pity on your unlucky self."

Moody snorted as he took a long swig from his canteen. "I reckon we can just apparate back to the Portkey point without any more lengthy Muggle rides. I doubt either of us would prefer another jaunt through these woods. Can't say I want to stick around."

Harry nodded, noticing Moody's uncomfortable expression. "What is it?"

"I've got to apologize for my awful handling of the situation, earlier. You got snatched right out of the house, right under my very eye. I wasn't vigilant enough and it cost you. The only reason I don't have to lug back a corpse is luck." Moody grimaced. "Clearly I've been slacking off while training you."

Harry rolled his eyes, considering that he had barely known what was going on before he was out of sight of the house in the first place – it'd just happened too quickly. Who knows what insane new training the old codger would come up with from this most recent brush with death?

* * *

"Speak."

The Death Eater rose quickly to his feet, keeping his head lowered. Nervously he wiped his hair out of his eyes. In his hands was a square envelope with silver writing on it, as well as a wax seal. "My Lord, an owl arrived several minutes ago with this."

Voldemort rose from his seat, putting aside the thick tome he had been studying, frowning at the black letter that his follower held in shaky hands. "What delivered it?"

"A black owl, my Lord. I didn't recognize it."

Voldemort nodded slightly, narrowing his eyes, before snatching the letter away. "Is there a reason it did not arrive into my hands directly?"

"I don't know." The Death Eater answered nervously. "It dropped its letter and left immediately. I would've thought it was meant for me if it did not carry your name, my Lord."

"You may go." Voldemort said, turning away. The letter had clearly been sent by proxy - intended to be delivered to a follower of his and then passed along. For what possible purpose? Owls were quite capable of finding him, even if they left rather confused about where they had been.

He quickly cast several counter-spells on the envelope – there was only a single curse – one that would affect anyone who opened the letter that had no right. Identical, in fact, to the letters he himself sent regularly. Interesting. Clearly, the sender knew enough about recruitment letters to mimic them – but this was not from any established connection. For once, Voldemort found that he was curious.

He quickly removed the letter and opened it – neat, thinly spaced lines. A large, swirling autograph and silver triangle seal at the bottom. It took but moments to take in the contents.

A sinister smile made its way onto the Dark Lord's visage, his red eyes glinting in the firelight.

* * *

Minister Scrimgeour gazed dispassionately out the window, absentmindedly tapping on his desk and ignoring the sizable piles of documents surrounding him. For the first time in several days, the Ministry was managing itself for a moment.

His time as the Minister for Magic had been rocky thus far; following up on a Minister in disgrace, many expected far more than he could reasonable deliver; seemingly thinking that he was a saviour from on high that could fix all that Fudge destroyed with a wave of his wand. Scrimgeour was uncomfortably aware that only the most obvious of injustices had seen improvement thus far, with many regulations pending Wizengamot review – it could take years to get through them all.

Between fixing the restrictive policies regarding Magical creatures and beings (a section of Wizarding law that saw considerable alteration under Fudge) and the on-going conflict with the resurrected Lord Voldemort, nobody really seemed to have time for all the minor things – all the sneaky little rules that had been slipped in along the way, apparently to make it harder for anyone to challenge new laws.

Thankfully many Ministry employees kept meticulous records, allowing him to easily sort through the most problematic issues; some went into so much detail that it was honestly a bit on the extreme side; particularly the people regulating Muggle relations.

What was currently occupying most of his consideration, though, was the peculiar folder of documents currently spread across the desk, between various stacks of material that had not yet been signed. A report from the Department of Mysteries.

It'd always been a secretive bunch, the Unspeakables; Fudge had very little interest in the activities there when he was Minister, something Scrimgeour had been curious about when he first accepted the position. It seemed that, though subservient to the Ministry in name, the Department largely liked to function on its own, with extensive contacts in the Wizarding World at large that would allow them to put their inventions and discoveries into practice before the Wizengamot or Minister ever set eye on those.

His greater interest in the Department had evidently been noticed as reports had arrived on his desk starting from his second week; case reports on magical experiments, interim reports on the status of various large projects and a thick stack of covert scrolls dedicated to the most well hidden missions its members got involved in.

The first time Scrimgeour first went down there to take a look for himself had been remarkable; he'd gotten a full tour around the local premises, and received descriptions of other facilities across the country and elsewhere; he even spent some time looking at artefacts that had long been thought lost, but were safely stored away behind many wards. The people had been remarkably open – and yet it all felt a bit false.

By now he was quite aware that there was more going on than innocent research and experimentation; it had been how he had first discovered about what exactly the Temporal Division got up to that really made it obvious to him.

This led him back to the document that had been on his desk regularly for the last two months. This report should not have been in his hands, as it had not yet been written. It was this report that had actually inspired him to arrange the very missions described in it; a paradox if he ever knew one.

The temporal division was messing with time; terrible things happen to people who mess with time.

Scrimgeour just hoped he'd made the right choice. He closed the folder with a sigh, frowning at the cover. Perhaps he'd one day find out why _that_ symbol would be on it.

* * *

Luna Lovegood had been remarkably absentminded lately, even more so than usual. She'd regularly forgotten that she'd arranged study sessions with Neville and occasionally even walked into a classroom fully convinced she should be there, when the class had ended hours before.

It wasn't really her intention, of course – she was distracted. Hermione had tried to coax the reason for her distraction out of the Ravenclaw but to very little success; Luna had simply smiled and waved it off. All that she'd been able to deduce was that it had something to do with Harry. Currently she was stretched out on one of the fluffy armchairs of the Gryffindor Common Room, her eyes closed.

Harry's absence at school remained peculiar, Hermione thought; it had been mere days since he'd last been visiting but it felt far longer, and each time they'd really had few things to talk about; the first few times Hermione went into what was being learned at school but Harry had quickly caught up with them, and was now well ahead in several classes.

"Is Harry coming over next Saturday?" Ginny asked as she strolled in, half an hour later than she'd promised.

"Next week. I think he's been invited to dinner by a co-worker." Hermione answered with a slight smile. "A vampire, so I imagine Harry might not be too pleased with the menu. Where have you been?"

"They really hire vampires and werewolves there, huh." Ginny wondered out loud, ignoring the question. "The new Minister must be really tolerant – my dad's got all kinds of good things to say about him."

"Anything beats Fudge." Hermione answered. "Though I must point out that most of the currently employed non- or part-humans were already-"

"Yes, yes, the Department of Mysteries is special." Ginny rolled her eyes. "I wish I could take a peek sometime, see what Harry gets up to. It's weird only seeing him occasionally. Besides, soon we'll not even recognize him, I imagine. He's being taught by people that are up there with the Headmaster in fame."

"Enough about Harry," Ron said as he slouched in with a smile. "I just got done trouncing the Ravenclaws in a practice game. Shame you weren't there, sis. That's far more important!"

"You'll have your Seeker for the next real game," Ginny said with a smile. "I'm really not interested in your excuse for an exercise, Ronald."

Ron grimaced at his full name. "Well, Ginevra, you'd better catch us a snitch in the next game. I'll hold you to it! We have to win the cup this year to show the school that Gryffindor can succeed without Harry in there. Besides, I think McGonagall will grill us if she can't have her cup."

Hermione sighed as she got up out of her fluffy armchair. "Ron, can you think about anything except Quidditch? I don't mean food."

Ron coloured, but he didn't answer right away. "Quidditch is a very important sport to talk about!" He finally said with a glare. "You shouldn't knock it."

Ginny sighed deeply, prodding Luna in the side. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"I'm not sleeping," Luna answered clearly, sitting up. "I'm merely letting my eyelids catch a nap. I'll need my eyes later, after all."

"Whatever you say, Luna," Ron said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'll see if I can get anything done tonight – I'll see you all later."

Ron quickly shot up the stairs leaving the three girls alone; Ginny sank into the chair next to Hermione, sighing contentedly. They were the only people in the Common Room right now; most were up in the dorm rooms already.

"I had a strange dream last night," Luna started. "It had Harry in it."

"Really, Luna?" Hermione answered.

"He was all sweaty and tired and he had his wand out." Luna continued, oblivious to Hermione and Ginny's widening eyes.

"I suppose it's nice to have dreams about Harry sometimes," Luna said. "At least I know he's okay. I'd certainly notice if anything happened to him."

"I didn't know you and Harry were so close," Ginny said, perplexed.

"Oh, we're not, not really. At least, not yet." Luna answered. "I'm sure we'll figure out the whole teamwork thing at some point, though. Now, if you don't mind, I think I might go write something. I feel like the Quibbler could use a new section!"

Hermione and Ginny stared at each other for some time after Luna left.

"Luna? Truly?" Ginny finally said softly, staring at the direction the girl had gone. "I wouldn't have expected it in a thousand years."

Hermione had narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what to think. Luna pining after Harry? I'd sooner have expected it from you, honestly."

Ginny just stared, unblinking. "I might have a crush on the guy, but I'm not bad enough to go catty on anyone else who has the same. Especially if it is Luna. Although I think you yourself would think differently about my brother."

Hermione glanced up with wide eyes. "Don't you dare say that when-"

Ginny groaned. "Just tell him, Hermione – he's a Quidditch-obsessed dummy convinced that he's inferior – but he certainly fancies you." Ginny left her to stew on that – if the smartest person in the school couldn't figure that out, how could she blame Harry for not figuring out her crush? Some people just didn't get this.

She sighed deeply as she thought about finally letting go of the illusion that she and Harry could be together – but she couldn't. Who knows what might happen in the future?

* * *

Harry and Moody arrived back in London the next morning, Harry thankfully landing on his feet this time, though he bounced along the bespelled floor some distance before stopping. Moody didn't even seem fazed by the Portkey, stepping confidently off the platform.

It'd been unfortunate for both that they'd arrived back where they got into America and found it empty – unlike the Ministry, this apparition spot actually had opening times. They'd spent the night in one of Moody's tents which was sizable enough inside to have separate rooms and a remarkably full enchanted fridge. Both of their prisoners had been locked inside a very familiar trunk instead.

Moody strode on quickly with Harry hurrying behind, reminding the latter of his tour of the Ministry by an incognito Minister for Magic. The trip to the elevators was quick and this time Harry himself sent the special elevator up to the first floor without even a sound.

"You are expected," Percy said as they arrived – strange, as Moody hadn't yet alerted anyone to their return. Perhaps someone had seen them on the way up and sent a quick message?

"Alastor, Mr. Potter." Scrimgeour said as he shoved aside a think folder he was reading and placing a potted plant on top of it to keep it closed. "You are back considerably earlier than expected."

"We ran into… complications," Harry started, suddenly realizing his voice charm was still active and quickly cancelling it with a gesture. He shrugged off his hood as well. "Both of the Aurors that were sent were turned and they were awfully interested in our presence."

"You have brought them back, I trust?" Scrimgeour said, looking over his glasses with an unidentifiable expression.

"They're in this trunk," Moody said, tapping the large wooden trunk that had been inside his jacket pocket in its shrunken form. "Dires, and no clue if they've already fed. Certainly not recently."

"I see," Scrimgeour said, nodding. "You met with a Caspian Trenton, wanted fugitive?"

"Yes…" Harry started. "Wait, how could you know that? I haven't even told anyone that except Moody here."

"You haven't written a report, yet." Scrimgeour answered, tapping the folder he's set aside. "I have more sources than word of mouth, Mr. Potter. Surely an Unspeakable like you should be aware that there are more possibilities."

Harry swallowed, thinking back to his meeting with Caspian and the balding vampire. "There was a second one – he was familiar with the Department of Mysteries and wore one of our robes. He didn't introduce himself, though."

"I am aware," Scrimgeour answered shortly. "I can only tell you that you will undoubtedly uncover his identity in due time. I merely request that you do not dig too deeply to find this information and get yourself in trouble. There are good reasons he is not public knowledge."

"I suppose I'll have to take your word on that."

"Indeed. Suffice to say his interactions with the Ministry far predate my own arrival at the Ministry." Scrimgeour nodded at the folder, stroking his beard in thought. "Much of what I find in here is confusing to me, as it must be to you. I believe there are very few people who could make heads or tails of it – and most of them are unwilling to elucidate anything or not allowed to."

"The Temporal Division, I gather." Harry tried, frowning.

"Somewhere in the coming year, the Time Room must be repaired," Scrimgeour said with a shrug. "Whatever will happen in the future lead to one of the employees of the Ministry risking serious injury to himself to send this report back in time, allowing the Ministry to prepare."

"That's not possible, though." Harry said, frowning. "You can't change the past."

"How would you know such a thing, Mr. Potter?" Scrimgeour asked idly, a feral grin appearing.

Harry sputtered briefly, trying to come up with a feasible excuse that didn't include travelling through time with Hermione and her time-turner.

"I am aware of the Black incident," Scrimgeour said, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. "You must surely know that the time-turner in question was on loan from the Department of Mysteries? Oh, Dumbledore had to exert quite a bit of pressure to get such a thing authorized… It all turned out for the best, I suppose."

Harry gulped at the Minister's sharp look. This man was a lot sharper than he had originally seemed. "I suppose…"

"I must admit the most curious aspect of it, for a time, was the reasoning you could possibly have for saving a criminal – not to mention one whose crimes would be so near to your heart. Unlike Fudge, though, I dare stand up to Dumbledore and demand explanations."

"You believe me?" Harry said with some amazement. "I mean, about his innocence."

"Mr. Pettigrew is currently skulking around this very Ministry, Potter," Scrimgeour answered dryly. "I'd be an idiot if that didn't convince me. It is unfortunate that he met with his end so very shortly before he would've been exonerated."

Harry nodded uncomfortably. "I've come to terms with what happened, somewhat. I think Sirius wouldn't have minded the way he went out – fighting Death Eaters, protecting his- his godson. If you can find a chance to officially pardon him, I'd appreciate it."

"I will see what can be done, Unspeakable Potter – but you'll find that there are still many people in Ministry employ that would balk at such a thing. Without any hard evidence, it's difficult. Perhaps when Pettigrew has outlived his usefulness, he can be captured and held accountable."

Harry agreed with that, blinking at noting Moody's uncharacteristically sullen frown.

"I understand that you failed in your assigned task," Scrimgeour said, looking at the ex-Auror. "Not a good start, Alastor."

"I got careless," Moody said gruffly. "The vampire was a hell of a lot faster than I expected, and I foolishly failed to consider anything near those velocities. I'd trapped the entire hallway against vampires but the creature barely even touched the floor long enough to notice the fact. By the time I got serious, he and Potter were gone."

"You will face consequences for your unsatisfactory performance, as you surely understand." Scrimgeour pointed out. "Things may have turned out well this time, but we cannot afford such mishaps in the future."

"Understood, Minister." Moody answered, shrinking in on himself. Harry had never before seen Moody of all people looking guilty and sorry.

"It all turned out well," Harry said consolingly. "At least, as well as it could've gone. Nobody died, we got the Aurors back – even if a bit toothier than before – and the vampires had to pack up and move elsewhere. Next time there's a sighting, a bigger group will be sent to deal with it."

"Aurors Williamson and Proudfoot will be handed over to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where they will be nursed back to relative health; since there is no longer a rule against vampires serving as Aurors, they will be retested and may re-join if they're up to it."

"Quite generous," Moody pointed out. "Fudge would've had them jailed."

"Well, you'd better be thankful I'm not Fudge or you might well have been fired over this incident," Scrimgeour said. "For now, Mr. Mustang will be taking over the leadership position in your new assignment; hopefully you'll soon be complete. The position will be up for review in a few weeks. We'll see if it works out."

Moody nodded unhappily.

"You may wait outside, Alastor." Scrimgeour said, sweeping open the door with a flick of his wand. "I have some words for Mr. Potter's ears alone."

Scrimgeour sank deep into his chair, looking interestedly at the wizard before him. Moody quickly left, closing the door behind him – there was a distinct fizzling sound – the muffling spells were back in place.

"I have read your report - I'm aware you've yet to write it, but bear with me – you quite clearly skip over an event that I'm aware did occur."

Harry blinked owlishly. "How would I know what I didn't include in my report, Minister?"

"Rufus is fine," Scrimgeour said with a friendly smile. "I am referring to a report I received yesterday regarding a minor prophecy."

Harry nodded, frowning. "Why wouldn't I include that in the report? You already know about it anyway."

Scrimgeour shrugged, picking up a loose parchment from the desk. "The Custodians informed me of the prophecy immediately, given that I was rather impressed by your last one. Can you shed any light on its meaning?"

"Beyond the obvious?" Harry wondered. "It was about the death of the two vampires in front of me – whoever kills them is old and does it with fire, I figure. There are some other ideas I've had but I'm unsure on those."

Scrimgeour didn't answer, twirling his wand in his hand. "The Custodians have come across another interpretation that they'll probably share with you – the words 'elder' and 'ash' have rather more connotations than the ones you mentioned. Suffice to say that if such an interpretation is correct, there are several colleagues who would be interested in your assistance. "

"Colleagues, sir?"

"Indeed. How much do you know about the activities of Necromancers?"

* * *

**Author's Note :** Well, it took a while since I had other obligations, but there's a new chapter! Most of the next one has already been written as well, taking things back to the Department of Mysteries and the Custodians, as well as Snape's latest information on Voldemort's activities.

References in this chapter are sparse : The town used here _does_ really exist, and is in fact a ghost town. Several of the geographical features are also real. All of the items that Moody carries along with him are protections against vampires from non-European traditions or the more familiar stuff. Too bad he didn't get to use many of them this time around.

Inspiration for Dire Vampires was taken from variants on the European Vampire tradition (particularly some of the habits of the 30 Days of Night type); the elder Dire Vampire here had some inspiration in visuals from the Master in Season 1 Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Caspian Trenton is named after Caspian Pierce from 'The Embrace' series, and Matthew Trenton from Blood Thirst, both vampire features. (Obscure! :P)

Since some concerns were raised regarding including Twilight or Naruto in this story (neither of which I intended) I'll inform you here : neither sparkly vampires nor orange-clad ninja will appear in this fanfic. Nor will Volturi or Sharingan. I intended to work in Japanese Mythology from the beginning and figured a Shinobi would be the ideal way in; the Naruto references there came in from being introduced to the show recently. Twilight was only ever intended as a target to make fun of, honestly, since I am not a teenage girl.

I will see you next chapter.


	11. Alias : Bad Tidings

**Chapter 11 : Bad Tidings**

"Margaret, you should take a look at this!"

To most people, the sight of several robe-clad people sorting through a rather respectable mound of excrement would be peculiar or disgusting. Most wizards would say much the same thing. Very few would think working in the vicinity of vicious twenty-foot tall dragons at all was a rational choice, in fact.

"Gobbled up a Kneazle, I'd say," Charlie Weasley observed as he shoved his colleague aside, poking the pile with a bamboo rod. The large tent they occupied shook as a second man backed into its side. "Where do you reckon he got it from?"

"A stray, probably," George Aubrey answered in exasperation as he plopped down on a straight-backed chair in the corner. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on Lindy?"

"I put Dob on that. He can handle it. He swapped for Viper."

"Viper?" Margaret asked, looking up. "You swapped a nice easy day with Lindy for that nasty piece of work? That monster's never been quite the same since her trip to Britain, you know – she's gotten nastier than she ever was."

Charlie smiled as he carefully picked apart the Kneazle remains he's discovered, in search of a sign that might indicate it had been someone's pet. His hands were charmed to repel the excrement as it was rather corrosive, and it thankfully also kept the smell off. "I can handle Viper – I've got a trick to handle her. If I smell the part, she'll tolerate me."

"Smell the part?" Aubrey responded with a frown. "Unless you're covering yourself in dragon blood, I don't see how anything would appease that beast."

"Dob and I figured that Viper's just resenting losing an egg back in Britain. Probably smart enough to realize it was outwitted, but too dim to figure out it wasn't a real egg that she lost." Charlie answered with a smile. "With that in mind, I mailed a friend of mine for some clothes, and as long as I don't wash the things, it'll be fine. Viper won't even dare come within twenty feet for fear of losing more offspring."

"So that's why you come here dressed in those awful rags!" Margaret concluded. "I figured it was just your weird sense of fashion."

"Dob figured that out, did he?" George responded as he pulled a face, carefully putting aside a large mound of dragon poop. "Didn't think him the talkative type, honestly. He's barely said a word to me."

"He's not from Britain like the rest of us, remember." Charlie said, shrugging. "I mean, with a name like Dobrynya Nikitich – I think – what can you honestly expect? We use translation charms – it's slow-going but I'm learning his language while he's finally picking up on English. It'll take a couple of weeks before he can talk a decent word of English without it, though. It's tiring to keep up for any length of time, but I figured we both win."

"He's Russian, right?"

"Belarusian, actually." Margaret answered. "I'd ask if you're actually learning Russian or his mother-tongue. I figure he knows both, though."

"There's more than one language there?" Charlie asked, paling. "Oh boy. I thought I could learn Russian and maybe do some work at the Siberian reserves."

George made to answer, but stopped as he suddenly noticed something strange. He blinked owlishly. "Folks, does anyone else hear anything peculiar?"

Charlie turned to him, confused. He didn't hear anything. Wait, not anything? "What happened to Faf?"

"Fafnir's never been this silent," Margaret said, alarmed. "What's – "

A red-tinged bolt of fire crashed through the tent with incredible force, impacting into the rock wall on the opposite side and setting the tent's fabric aflame on its way through, though the flames rapidly fizzled out. George was thrown to the ground, Charlie managing to just barely keep upright by leaning against the table. A second blazing bolt quickly followed from some distance away.

"We're under attack!" Charlie yelled with his wand immediately in his hand. "Shield charms, now!"

All three Dragon keepers conjured a _Protego_ just as a third bolt of fire sputtered out on the floor in front of the tent's entrance. "We've got no cover here. We've got to get ourselves into one of the safe houses." Charlie said as he gazed out, trying to see where the attacks originated. "Let's assume we're alone here – which is the closest?"

"Fafnir's enclosure has one, but given that we can't hear him –"

"Yeah, if this is what I think it is, we'd better assume the worst. Glaurung's coop, maybe?" Charlie answered.

"The safe house there was ruined last week – it was the last of the old type and the charms wore off. I'd say Norberta or Tanith are our best bets."

"That's quite a distance," Charlie said. "At least we got lucky – judging from those fire spells, the attackers figured we would be taken out by the first barrage. Whoever they are, they're overconfident. Probably didn't know we've got this whole region enchanted to funnel away dangerous vapours."

"They were trying to ignite the dragon poo?" George asked in disbelief. "Death by draconic fart, what a way to go!"

"Stick close, we'll move immediately. Don't use anything lethal if you can help it, but don't hesitate to knock people out – they might not be out for our lives. If we're lucky, we can pick up Dob on the way there – Lindy's enclosure is far too under-protected to serve against a Wizarding attack."

The three made their way out of the secluded vale that housed the research tents – Charlie with his mop of red hair and formfitting dragon leather uniform took his place at the front. He had his suspicions about who would attack a dragon reservation – a peaceful enterprise, typically. He wavered a bit as he came across two charred bodies, both of their arms frozen in death while clawing at their chest – they were clothed in dragon leather, but spells has blasted clean through them. They were colleagues – not Dragon Keepers he personally knew, but definitely co-workers.

"Our enemies are definitely not hesitant about murder – if you don't see an alternative, use fatal spells. That's authorization, you got that?" Charlie said shortly as he nervously went over the training he'd had for the Order.

"Yes, sir." George said anxiously. He was only here for his second year, and for now Charlie 's responsibility. Margaret was a senior. "I don't know many curses that would do that."

"You probably know the most effective one, though," Charlie whispered grimly, as he saw another body – this one confirming his suspicion and sending a chill through his spine. The body, propped up against a tree haphazardly, had no visible face – there was a white, skull-like mask gazing upwards.

"Is that...?" Margaret asked, trailing off. Charlie nodded.

"Death Eater. You Know Who's on the offensive."

"In Romania?" George exclaimed, his face paling. "I heard about him possibly being back, but why would he come here? We're not a threat! Romania's not even allied with the British Ministry of Magic!"

"It's probably not about the country. Listen, I know a little more than you do – trust me on this. If Voldemort's here – oh, stop flinching – then he's definitely after something on this preserve. Stay calm and if you see Voldemort himself, flee. I don't care where, just report in as soon as you can. I don't want you throwing away your lives, alright?"

"You're not my superior, Weasley." Margaret retorted. "I can take care of myself. Death Eater or not, I'll get these bastards!"

Further discussion was cut short as two Death Eaters with polished masks appeared from the eerily quiet woods – silencing charms, certainly. Charlie didn't hesitate to send a stunner at one before he could react, sending him crashing to the floor. The other wisely fled.

The trip through the reserves was without other altercations – the place was quite densely forested and there were many places to hide that the three were quite familiar with. The few Death Eaters they came across didn't even notice the passing Dragon keepers, far too busy with seeking whatever they were after.

"What are they here for? Just causing mayhem?" George wondered as he tried to keep an eye out in all directions.

"I don't know." Charlie answered worriedly as he spotted the entrance to Lindy's enclosure, and a huge shadowed form within. Lindy, being a female Common Welsh Green dragon was a rather even-tempered individual, generally amiable – so to see her on her hind legs, fully twenty-five feet tall and with its jaws wide open in rage was quite a sight. The eerie silence that persisted gave it an even more unreal edge.

"Lindy!" Margaret gasped as a reddish-brown bolt of lightning slammed into the dragon's armoured head, sending blood flying everywhere. With a sudden jolt the dragon's tail shot out, barrelling into whatever was out of sight on the ground, hidden behind the rock outcroppings that marked the edges of the pen.

"They're insane!" Charlie gasped, as he jumped up. "They're after the dragons!"

"That's impossible." Margaret said, as she warily stood up as well. "Even the tamest dragon would kill anyone who dared to try and control it, and shooting it with spells is really not going to help."

"With Voldemort involved, I'd assume the worst," Charlie said, frowning darkly. "Mum said there were rumours that he enslaved a dragon, back in the first war; I always figured it was an exaggeration. What if it were true?"

"Is he insane? The moment some Muggle gets an eyeful of a dragon the Statute is shot all to hell!"

"I really doubt You-Know-Who cares, George." Margaret retorted dryly.

"We have to get in there – Dob might still be there, and even if Lindy's victorious against the attackers, she's going to turn right on her keepers next in the state she's in!" Margaret said as she walked out, quickly followed by Charlie and at some distance George. "Screw safety."

Charlie cursed under his breath. "I really don't want to get in between a Death Eater and Dragon if I can help it."

The three quickly made their way over, staying low to the ground as they turned the corner, and finally the deafening roars of Lindy reaches their ears – they all winced. Lindy was limping, both her legs covered in blistering wounds, quite a feat on any dragon. Her vast wings hung at her sides without moving, her right arm cradled protectively against her chest, broken. In her sights were eight living Death Eaters firing off potent concussive charms in quick succession. Between them and the dragon were three bodies. Tied with thick rope to one of the shorter spires that punctuated the enclosure was the unconscious form of Dob.

Charlie didn't need more to know that they'd better take shelter – with a quick movement he dragged his two companions behind a large rock, the edge of the dragon's feeding trough.

"There's definitely too many for us to take on safely." Charlie said carefully, glancing around the corner – thankfully, the Death Eaters were rather preoccupied. Even a wounded dragon was a nasty foe. "I'd say wait till Lindy takes out a few more, but I don't think she's going to last much longer."

"You can't be thinking of taking on more than half a dozen dark wizards!" Margaret exclaimed in shock. "That's insane!"

"Three versus Eight – and a dragon – I've had worse odds."

"When?"

"I won a game of chess against Albus Dumbledore." Charlie replied with a wicked smirk. "Besides, didn't you pay attention? Dob's tied up, literally, among those Death Eater pricks. We have to get him back. There's no way we're letting them have him."

With unspoken agreement the three raised their wands as one and charged.

* * *

Harry's night had been restless and confused – he'd spent quite a bit of it aimlessly writhing around in his bed, trying to get some rest but failing dramatically. It didn't help that he'd spent last evening concentrating on recalling everything that he'd said and heard on his mission and that he was plagued by nightmares of being hunted down every time he managed to nod off.

Harry stretched his legs, forcing some of the stiffness out of them. Moody had anticipated Harry's poor night – he'd delivered a handful of sealed bottles the night before from his personal store that contained Pepper-up Potion – it wouldn't do for very long but it'd get him through the day. He glared out of his faux window as he chugged one down, feeling the weariness fade away as energy seemed to surge within.

Harry had spent much of the last night in his room, writing his report – Scrimgeour had seemed quite adamant he should finish it quickly. Harry didn't quite understand – Scrimgeour had evidently already received numerous details of the mission's results – but paperwork was paperwork. As Harry distractedly stuffed away his report, he heard a strange groaning noise.

He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was he was wearing – before he could figure out a way to describe it, it was interrupted by the soft impact of one of his books against the floor. A small book – his copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard – had managed to yet again find its way to the ground. Harry picked it up to put it back in its place. There wasn't one.

Confused, Harry tried to shove aside the books – all he got was that strange groaning sound. With some difficulty he managed to pull one of the Muggle books from his mother out. With a pop, the empty space was gone, as if it'd never been there. This time, though, Harry had seen what'd caused it.

Dumbledore's birthday gift, the large tome on Ministry regulations, had _grown_.

Harry stared at it unthinkingly for a few moments as the book tried to press the volumes besides it out of the bookcase – he quickly pulled it out before it sent more to the ground. The book enlarged to its full size in one loud pop – almost twice as wide as it originally was. Inside the cover was the note he'd gotten with it: _"Take extra care in reading page 796 onward."_

Harry quickly flipped over the dreadfully boring beginning parts of the book until he found the page – unlike last time he checked, this time there was actually something there.

In flowing, golden-embossed font it said "Albus Dumbledore's Diary."

Dumbledore had given him a copy of his diary? What on earth was the man thinking? Perhaps this was Dumbledore way of saying he wouldn't be keeping him in the dark anymore? He secretly hoped it was the case, though he had his doubts. He flipped the page and his eyes widened.

The first thing that caught his eye was the date. At the top of the page was the rather disjointed scribbling of a young Dumbledore. "August 1892, Mould-on-the-Wold." When Dumbledore meant diary, he evidently meant his life story from practically the start.

The other thing that caught Harry's attention was a very familiar symbol in the side-line in neat handwriting – a much later addition. A triangle with a circle inside it and a line crossing through. A symbol he'd been trying to remember since last night – the balding vampire's ring.

That symbol, he knew he'd seen it before – it'd been popping up in places of late. He recalled someone wearing a pendant very much like it, and he could've sworn...

Whatever it was, it was evidently a Wizarding symbol of some significance, and it might just be a clue. He quickly copied the symbol onto an empty piece of parchment and put the diary back on the shelf for a moment. Harry watched with some amazement as the book thinned out to its former length, the diary part vanishing. Picking it back up, the missing pages reappeared and the book got noticeably heavier as well. The first time, the book must've just been trying to get his attention.

Harry decided that wondering whether books could be impatient was an issue he should think more about – but not today. He quickly shoved the note with the symbol he'd copied into his pocket and tidied up his little personal library.

When he finally put back the Tales of Beedle the Bard, he glimpsed something on the cover – something awfully familiar. Right there, printed on the bloody cover, was that _same symbol. _

"What on earth do you mean?" Harry muttered confusedly. Suddenly there was a knock at the door; Harry nearly jumped a foot in the air and stammered out a greeting. "I-I'll be right there."

"Still not up and active, Potter?" Rafe Phelan asked as he stuck a head through the door. It must've been a full moon recently – the man looked like hell warmed over.

"I'll be right there, mutt." Harry responded good-naturedly – he hadn't spent too much time with Rafe lately, but the man was quite sociable and regularly thought of new nicknames for the newbie – Harry figured he'd be in that position until someone even younger was hired. Not exactly a likely scenario.

"Heard your mission went a bit crazy," Rafe said from just outside the door. "Anything you can tell?"

"We ran into some nasty vampires. We got the two missing Aurors back, but they'd both been turned. I don't know what will happen to them." Harry responded as he pushed open the door and joined the werewolf. "The vamps that did it got away – we'll probably hear from them again."

"It must've been a rather miscalculated mission if you ask me – hardly the kind of thing to send a new guy on. You'd probably be safer in a good old artefact hunt, and those things can get messy."

"I suppose it was a bit more exciting than expected," Harry said, smiling somewhat as the two made their way towards the Department of Mysteries. Neither were wearing their robes – Harry's set was still in for repairs and Rafe barely ever bothered. "What's an artefact hunt, really? Dangerous?"

"Very." Rafe said seriously, frowning. "I've only been with a few times – all of them were basically disasters. You've got to understand that most of the artefacts we have here in the Ministry are controlled – they've been defused or warded off. Most of the ones still out there are very much active – and age doesn't help these things. Magical artefacts don't fizzle out like some Muggle machine – they soak up magic from the environment. They get a little wonky."

"Wonky?"

Rafe shuddered visibly. "They get really crazy – basically supercharged and a bit off kilter. There was a gravity manipulation artefact in Belgium a year or two back – I was on a mission to retrieve it with two others. Normally it'd make something weightless, right?"

Harry nodded, wondering how that'd be dangerous.

"Seeing as it messed with gravity, we thought it was pretty harmless – I mean, making someone float isn't the biggest danger ever. We brought along brooms and approached. It was quite old and completely beyond control. One of my team was smashed through the wall and several feet into the nearest hill when he tried to get near. He survived, but he broke most of his bones and he was never quite the same after that. The other team member was launched upwards – floated down on his own power. Me – well, I managed to neutralize it before it crushed me into the floor. Suffice it to say that we learned our lesson."

"That's the worst one you've seen, then?" Harry wondered, trying to imagine how he'd tackle an unpredictable, possibly lethal, magical artefact.

"Hardly." Rafe answered. "It's just the only one without fatalities. I figured you wouldn't want the really gory stories."

"Yeah, I'll pass." Harry answered with a nod, shuddering at the thought of trying to gather such dangerous remnants of lost times. The Ministry had thousands of the things stored up – what a work that must've been!

* * *

"It was definitely a prediction," Harry said with a frown, rubbing his neck. "It was a short one again – short and to the point – and I figured you'd have the record."

"We do have it," the Custodian answered with a small smile. "It's just not generally allowed to view predictions before we've identified the people involved. In the first vision of this kind we had obvious targets – this one's far vaguer."

"How is it vague?" argued Harry angrily. "The targets were the two vampires I met. The Ministry undoubtedly has records but I haven't been able to find the balding one. Whoever they are, they're vampires quite content with killing us all. The target is rather obvious."

"You do not see the subtleties of divination," the Custodian responded with a glower. "We've had this discussion before."

Indeed, that was true – every meeting with the Custodians – leisurely or official – ended up with a debate on the relative merits of divination techniques. Harry almost always ended up opposing whatever hare-brained method of looking into the future was brought up; reading entrails just had him shaking his head in disgust.

"I might not know much about prophecy, but I do believe I have the right to pitch in? I was there when it happened, you know."

"It's highly irregular," the Custodian answered, but relented at Harry's stare. "I'll allow it. Just be sure not to say stupid things before thinking them through – people here expect a level of decorum."

Harry snorted. The Custodians, however amiable they usually were, came across as some of the most stuck-up employees of the whole Department. They seemed quite content to see themselves as superior to everyone else and regularly looked down upon their colleagues with thinly veiled disgust – Harry himself got along slightly better due to their professional interest. If it weren't for his recently discovered foresight, he'd probably never spend any time at all here – the small glowing spheres stacked on high shelves still gave him the creeps.

"Come along, then." The Custodian said with a nod. It was very hard to keep the Custodians apart – Harry wasn't sure if it was some type of disguise or a prerequisite for the position, but they all shared a very similar stocky build, used a walking stick and came across as centuries old. The only way Harry had been able to distinguish one from the other was through personality – the hoods they regularly wore didn't help. This Custodian – he had nicknamed him Grumpy – was particularly offended by Harry's status as an Unspeakable, considering him rather too young for the responsibility. (Harry didn't know if he disagreed with the sentiment too much after the recent mission.) There were other Custodians that refused to even talk to him, which probably meant they thought even less of him.

Luckily there were about a handful of decently friendly Custodians, including the one he originally met when he first arrived at the Department. He at least had some friendly voices around whenever someone started ranting about his presence.

The Custodian grumbled as he walked into a large room at the back of the Hall of Prophecies – one of several secondary rooms that was not filled to the brim with small spheres. Three other Custodians sat around a long table to the side of the poorly lit room; the ghastly smell of too much incense met his nose and Harry sniffed in disgust.

"Mr. Potter." said the nearest of the three with a look of disapproval.

"Custodian." Harry said with as much respect as he could muster. "I wish to know if there is any new information on the predictions I've been making."

The small man turned away briefly, evidently communicating in that silent way he'd seen some Unspeakables do – Legilimency, Harry suspected. The man finally turned back and his expression had softened somewhat. "You remain a mystery, Mr. Potter – though your particular variation of the Sight appears to most closely resemble that of an Oracle, there's anomalies. Obviously the most significant one is that there's no known way to turn a perfectly normal wizard into a Seer mid-way through life."

"I figured maybe Voldemort had something to do with that," Harry answered. "You must admit, being hit by a Killing Curse and surviving is rather a unique condition."

"You've been talking to Mr. Avicenna," the small man responded with a grimace. "He may work with the veil, but he is no authority on divination. His hypotheses, though interesting, are essentially those of a layperson."

"I haven't seen you come up with anything." Harry sighed as he slumped down, trying to calm himself down. Ranting at the Custodians – again – wouldn't get him anywhere. "I wish there was a conclusion and we could move on."

"We understand," the second Custodian at the table said in a friendly tone. "You must understand this is peculiar for us. The only similar cases to yours that we have date back centuries – and they're before most of the modern spells were developed. The likeliest explanation is the involvement of some artefact – though we have not detected any such activity in your vicinity since you joined this Department. We have no way of finding out what it is if it merely affected you sometime in the past."

"Unless someone else stumbles across it again," Harry pointed out. "I would keep an eye on Hogwarts then – if I was exposed to anything, it's bound to be there, since I don't really spend any time anywhere else in the Magical world."

Grumpy sighed, tapping with his walking staff. "Regardless of the specifics, we should take the predictions seriously. Though I do not particularly prefer the involvement of the Seer," – he glared at Harry here with a sneer – "I must admit that until we have more information, he is our only lead. If there is indeed an artefact that can make one into a Seer, it would obviously be of great interest to the Department – particularly if it bestows abilities so similar to an Oracle. They are, after all, rare as it is."

"This last prediction – what's the problem?" Harry questioned as he got back to the topic he wished to discuss – the debate on the origin of his particular Sight could go on for hours. "Like last time, I had a pretty good idea of what it meant – or at least, who."

"The problem isn't actually the targets, per se," one of the Custodians admitted. "It's simply that the interpretation that comes to mind immediately clashes with previous prophecies. You see, our first inclination was to believe that 'Elder' and 'Ash' in your prediction stood for wand woods."

"Wand woods?" Harry mused out loud. "I didn't know they made wands out of Elder wood."

"Oh, not wands." The Custodian admitted. "There's only one known wand – at least to us – that uses Elder wood and has any magical potency to cast spells – the appropriately named 'Elder Wand', or death stick. It's considered an artefact in itself."

"It's been missing for some time, though there are rumours that the last owner was none other than the Dark Lord Grindelwald." Grumpy added carefully. "It went missing after that."

"That Grindelwald owned it is but a rumour," another Custodian from the back of the room pointed out. "We have little to go on in identifying this wand – there are more legends than facts surrounding the fabled Wand of Destiny."

"In any case, the prediction would be rather more important than it seemed if this is the meaning – after all, it would indicate the possible re-emergence of the Elder Wand from wherever it's been hiding. The Ministry has long sought after this particular artefact, as I'm sure you realize."

Harry nodded dumbly. "You're sure this is about wand woods?"

"No," Grumpy acknowledged. "There are alternative explanations – for example, it could mean an actual elderly person or the wood itself – seeing as we are dealing with vampires, it may well indicate a stake fashioned out of the wood. In conjunction with Ash, however, the wand wood explanation gains some credence."

"Ash could also stand for other things – it could be symbolic for a death in fire, another plausible end to a vampire's existence."

"In short, you have no clue." Harry summarized wryly. "This doesn't seem particularly helpful. Perhaps we should wait until one of them croaks – that should tell us what it means."

Several of the Custodians had some harsh words to say on that topic, but Harry ignored the further discussion – it quickly degenerated into the relative merits of analytical techniques and interpretations. He slipped out from the Prophecy Room without anyone even noticing he'd left.

* * *

Harry had not visited the Death Room very often – the veil was not a particularly pleasant memory in general and Avicenna, the one person he knew to any degree from that part of the Department, had been away for some time. He forced himself to make weekly visits, though – not only to keep up contact with the employees there, but to get used to the strange lure of the veil – if he ever had to work here, he'd rather not have to get used to it all at once. Necromancers – the only people generally spending any appreciable time near it – did much the same early in their career.

Mancers were oddballs, Harry had determined. He'd met several now – Mustang was the most memorable – the man couldn't sit still and spending too much time around him was uncomfortable, as he radiated an absurd amount of heat. Necromancers seemed more stand-offish than him generally, though their specialization in the study of Death seemed to give them a somewhat creepy vibe and one's skin crawled if in close vicinity. Harry hadn't met any Aquamancers yet, but as far as he'd heard, everything became soggy when they were near – they required copious amounts of charms to even fill in paperwork.

The Death Room, oddly enough, had more than just Necromancers working in it – besides Avicenna there were a great number of employees that spent a week working for the Department for every three week they spent in another – this was required as extended exposure to the room without being a Necromancer apparently didn't help one's health. What exactly they did Harry was not aware of – perhaps he'd one day figure out when he was asked to help out.

Stepping into the Department Harry felt an uncomfortable cold grab hold – it was positively frigid compared to the rest of the Department. Several brightly-robed wizards were near the veil which remained relatively peaceful. After the first time, the veil had not again reacted violently to him – a fact that puzzled Mirrikh and Demetrion to no end.

Harry hadn't seen either one in a while – they'd been spending time somewhere out of the Ministry building, Harry was not privy to where. As far as he was aware though, it had something to do with the latter's education to become a Necromancer, as she had the aptitude for it.

The chilliness persisted and Harry was about to ask what was going on when he noticed the other side of the veil had a tall cage set up – and within it was a rather familiar shadowy shape. A Dementor. It was far enough away that Harry didn't really feel its effect beyond the cold, but the fact that it was there was creepy enough.

Harry walked sideways to get a better view – he had the uneasy feeling the Dementor was following him with its gaze. Several Necromancers acknowledged his presence and pointed towards the side of the room, where several black-cloaked Unspeakables were looking on.

"What's going on?" Harry asked as he approached.

"Execution." The tall Unspeakable answered, rubbing a hand through his short red hair.

"You're going to execute a _Dementor_?" Harry asked in confusion. "Is that even _possible?_"

"It's going through the veil. The only way that we know of to get rid of the buggers," the Unspeakable answered with a shrug. "I don't think we've met, by the way. I'm Thanos – a former Warden of Azkaban Prison."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said and he shook hands with the man. "How is Azkaban? All the escapes can't have been easy."

"It was inevitable," Thanos answered. "There was a small complement of Unspeakables serving as wardens, and there were never enough to even properly guide the Dementors, let alone control them. Thankfully, they were generally well-behaved. Until recently, obviously. The defection and escapes make the prison all but pointless now."

"So what's this one done?" Harry wondered as he nodded as the subdued Dementor.

"We captured it wandering London, where it killed three Muggles already. One of the few that didn't stick with their kind, I suppose. We can't really keep them anywhere – they'd just leave again – so we have orders from the Minister to get rid of any that we find."

"An order I can agree with," Harry muttered as he looked at the ghastly creature. "How many have you caught?"

"This is only number five, I'm afraid. If they're in any concentration worth mentioning we have no way of capturing them – they'd just overwhelm the Unspeakables we sent after them. We get lucky with the lone ones and hope that we find something else to take care of the hoard." Thanos smiled sheepishly. "I suppose we should be thankful that Voldemort is not using them much, yet – gives us time to find a solution. Remaking the veil has been one of the primary goals – if we could make a mobile version, it'd be a rather effective weapon."

"Figures," Harry muttered with a scowl. "The Death Room researching ways to cause even more death. Only appropriate, I suppose."

"The alternative is worse," Thanos answered neutrally. "Here it goes."

Two Necromancers walked towards the dementor with tall pronged sticks which hooked neatly into the cage – a shoddy wooden construct but probably warded efficiently. Two Necromancers had conjured Patronuses that flanked the cage - both foxes.

With a single forceful shove the entire cage disappeared through the softly shimmering veil, vanishing in its entirety. The Dementor was briefly outlined in bright white, before a piercing shriek echoed through the room – it stopped after mere moments and the shape vanished to join the cage. The two closest Necromancers gasped and sighed deeply due to the Dementor's effects vanishing. The room itself slowly returned to a more enjoyable temperature.

"Not the most pleasant thing to watch, but I suppose we have nothing better," Thanos said with a shrug. "Unlike people, these buggers don't have souls of their own to pass on."

"That's why it… shrieked like that?" Harry wondered, interested despite himself.

"As far as we know, yes. Dementors can't actually die in the traditional sense – if they have anything that can pass for a soul, it's so butchered that it cannot pass on. Some believe all Dementors share a single essence and that one can only really kill them all by hitting them all at the same time. Impractical, at best." Thanos sighed and gestured. "Muggle and Wizard alike can pass through the veil with no trouble – they've got intact souls that have a place to go. Even most magical creatures pass on as normal – believe me, individuals of most species have been put to death here over the centuries – but there are these exceptions. This is theoretical of course, but it is believed that anything which doesn't have anywhere to go just ends."

"So it's been destroyed. Completely?" Harry asked in a horrified whisper.

Thanos nodded with a grimace. "Thankfully Dementors can barely be said to have sentience – we're not exactly condemning fully fledged magical beings to the ultimate end. "

"I don't know if I like it," Harry admitted. "If even the worst person gets to go on to whatever lies beyond, I figure a Dementor should have that right too. Even if it's punishment on the other side, like Mirrikh seems to believe."

"Mirrikh is a bag of contradictions," Thanos said with a snort. "Let's not get too philosophical here – this is probably a better topic to bring up with the Necromancers. Some of them can get really obsessed about the ethics of dying and death – let alone the religious differences between them."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered with a scowl.

"Harry Potter?" asked a high-pitched voice. Harry glanced behind him – a thin woman with long blond hair had joined them, holding a letter in her outstretched hand. "It's a message from the Minister."

Harry nodded as the woman moved away – she was one of the secretaries that occasionally replaced Percy Weasley when the latter was not available. It was odd that she'd personally deliver a message like this, though.

The note was short:

"_Potter, I require your assistance with a matter that may be of personal importance to you. Please retrieve Albus Dumbledore from the entrance hall and join me in my office. Please conceal your identity; anonymity will be required for the duration of this assignment for numerous reasons. Come immediately. Take the codename 'Black' for now, if you please."_

A loopy 'Scrimgeour' was inscribed at the bottom of the message. Harry tossed the letter to the floor, where it immediately burned to ash, as it was enchanted to do.

"New orders, I'm afraid." Harry said with an apologetic look. "I'll be back sometime this week, I hope – I really haven't been here long enough."

Thanos shrugged. "Not my business, really. Mirrikh should be back on Wednesday, you should come by then."

"Will do," Harry retorted with a smirk as he moved to the nearest exit that would lead him to the entrance of the Department, quickly putting illusions on his face to hide his real features, giving himself straight hair and his eyes a neutral grey, while temporarily obscuring his scar – he'd be wearing his cloak, but if he had to remove his hood, it'd be no problem. He looked a solid fifteen years older – if he didn't do that, there was no point since there were scant few other Unspeakables that were near his age. His face actually looked vaguely like Sirius, this way. He cast his voice-modulation charm next, and carefully heightened his boots somewhat to give himself another few centimetres in length. This was going to be quite the trial by fire – acting like another person in front of one of the shrewdest people he knew.

* * *

"Mister Dumbledore," Harry said with a voice that reminded him suddenly of Sirius – he'd not really been concentrating when he cast the spell and he silently cursed not trying it out before he got into the entrance hall. Voice-modulation relied upon concentrating on what one's voice should sound like – being in the room where Sirius died was probably responsible for his lapse in focus.

"Yes?" Dumbledore asked as he turned with a worried frown. "Ah, you are to escort me to the Minister?"

"So I've been told," Harry answered. "Would you please follow?"

Dumbledore didn't object as the two moved through the now relatively calm entrance hall towards the Unspeakable private elevator, though he looked decidedly like he wanted to ask a multitude of questions. "I received a summons only minutes ago to retrieve you, so I can answer few questions you might have." Harry said to a disgruntled Dumbledore. The elevator moved up swiftly – though when it arrived, the room was empty.

"The Minister will join you in a few minutes, please sit." the blond woman he'd seen earlier said from the door, before quickly closing it. Harry shrugged and quickly took one of the chairs.

"You are staying?" Dumbledore asked with a frown, as he raised a bushy eyebrow.

"I have been summoned," Harry answered demurely.

Dumbledore nodded absentmindedly, attempting to peer into the Unspeakable's hood, though the charms on it were quite sufficient to keep out even Dumbledore's piercing sight. "Have you been informed on what happened earlier today?"

"I have heard rumours of an attack," Harry answered immediately. "The specifics are vague."

"I'm afraid the details are unpleasant," Dumbledore answered. "It will be in the Prophet in the morning, no doubt – the Romanian Dragon Reserves have been raided. Death Eaters took several dragons and half a dozen handlers."

Harry managed to avoid gasping, though he winced slightly. He suddenly realized why Scrimgeour had wanted him up here. "Do you know the identities of the missing?"

"Only the one I was personally informed of, Charlie Weasley – I understand several of his direct co-workers are also missing."

That explained a lot – Charlie had been kidnapped. Doubtlessly this explained where Percy was – at home with his family, no doubt, as Scrimgeour had been pressing him to do – and also why Scrimgeour wanted him here. There was going to be a retrieval mission.

"Voldemort is becoming quite bothersome," Harry said.

"Unfortunately," said Dumbledore.

A tense silence persisted, with neither saying anything for minutes. Dumbledore came across as unusually uncomfortable, fidgeting faintly. There was little to see of the wizard's usual composure – this attack had come out of left field, evidently.

The door opened and Scrimgeour loped through, nodding to both his guests – Dumbledore lowered himself into a comfortable chair he'd quickly transfigured for himself.

"Thank you for coming, Dumbledore, Unspeakable Black." Scrimgeour said with a nod to each in turn.

Harry noticed an expression of surprise quickly passing over the old Headmaster's face, though he had no clue why. Harry of course saw the reason in Scrimgeour's use of the codename - no doubt it was chosen due to the personal meaning the name had had to Harry – the fact that colour-based codenames were not unusual just made it even better.

"I'll fill you in on what we know – earlier this morning a large force of Death Eaters estimated in the dozens attacked the Romanian Dragon Reserves. There were only thirty-five Dragon Keepers present at the time, thirty-one of which are accounted for, dead or alive. In the immediate aftermath it was discovered that seven dragons, four females and three males, went missing from the reserves, with a further two killed with highly powerful concussive charms and cutting curses. Four Keepers were also taken, evidently in a single place, as four wands were retrieved from one of the Reserves, which match the known wands of these wizards and witches."

"What are their identities?" Harry asked shortly, frowning.

"Charlie Weasley, Margaret Agrippa, George Aubrey and Dobrynya Nikitich, all officially subjects of the British Ministry of Magic, though the latter is only a recent immigrant." Scrimgeour read aloud from a report on his desk. "The attackers are identified as Death Eaters due to the discovery of one stunned Death Eater left behind in the Reserve, as well as several bodies in a few of the Dragon Preserves that were raided. Two Dragon Keepers went in pursuit of the stolen dragons which were transported by air, using what we at the moment identify as an unknown anti-gravitational artefact."

"Elaborate, please." Harry said, glancing at Dumbledore, who had remained conspicuously silent.

"The artefact is described as an elongated ellipse capable of changing size, made of some mineral which is evidently capable of sustaining enormous loads in mid-air – only one dragon was transported at a time, so it's limited to about the size that one would take. The dragons in question were transported some distance and gathered together, probably for later transport. All are evidently kept unconscious, though the means is uncertain. It's possible they've simply been knocked unconscious and kept under with potions."

"You know where they are?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"Yes," Scrimgeour said with a fierce grin. "It is most likely true that the abducted Dragon Keepers are kept at the same location, as they were merely taken along as a prize for Voldemort by the Death Eaters – they will almost certainly be transported along with the dragons by whatever means they intend – if experience is anything to go by, illegal international Portkeys."

"Who has jurisdiction in the area?" Harry thought back to his manual - international regulations were annoyingly tough to understand and usually it was a major problem to get any cooperation at all, ever since the break-up of the international networks between nations.

"You see our problem, I'm sure." Scrimgeour said conspiratorially. "Officially the area is under Romanian rule – we have no rights there. We can go to the Dragon Reserves themselves, but nowhere beyond it without being caught by local Law-wizards and extradited back to Britain. We cannot possibly get into the country legally, before the dragons are long gone. This is why I invited you, Dumbledore."

"You require the Order's help." Dumbledore observed dispassionately. "Quite a departure from earlier statements by yourself that reject the existence or legality of said Order."

"You don't have to rub it in." Scrimgeour said with a glower. "No Auror could get into the country and retrieve the captured wizards without getting us into an international dust-up, and sending a large team of covert operatives is beyond our current capability – as you are aware, Unspeakable Black, we are still in the process of assembling a team to handle such delicate operations. The Order of the Phoenix, however, is a sizable group of wizards and witches not officially part of the Auror force that can do covert operations without reflecting badly on this government."

"We are not mercenaries," Dumbledore said seriously.

"Nevertheless, here our goals coincide." Scrimgeour responded. "I am aware of Charlie Weasley's affiliations, and I am certain you would be arranging a rescue operation of your own within the week."

Dumbledore didn't respond, merely gazing at the Minister in a peculiar way. "What do you propose, Rufus?"

"I suggest a small team of members of your Order – five, perhaps. In addition, there should be a token Ministry presence, though they will be required to go undercover. I have elected Unspeakable Black as a suitable addition to this endeavour, and he is free to choose on more that he finds suitable to work with."

Harry didn't respond to the mention of his codename, merely gazing at Dumbledore – doubtlessly an uncomfortable experience given that the cowl remained steadfastly void of a face to anyone who tried to look in. Finally, he spoke: "I accept this assignment."

Dumbledore looked deep in thought for some time, gazing at Harry oddly – he had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the old wizard had already seen through his disguise. Of course, given that Dumbledore knew he was an Unspeakable now, he probably suspected any such wizard he met to potentially be his former student.

Scrimgeour made a quick hand gesture to Harry – a shorthand code used between the Ministry and Unspeakables that was not generally known – especially not these signs. Harry had been instructed to learn them early on – the Minister had a habit of using the signs at the weirdest times and he might miss important information if he didn't pay attention. In this case, the gestures stood for 'hidden' and 'mask' in conjunction, an inquiry on whether or not he'd hidden his face. Dumbledore looked on with interest, though it was extremely unlikely he knew these signs – they were specific ones that the Minister had written down for him at the beginning of his employment, and unique to the two of them.

Harry nodded subtly in response, causing a slight smile to appear on the Minister's face. "Please remove your cowl, Unspeakable Black – I find that being open more readily allows us to trust each other."

Harry slipped his hood back onto his shoulders – he quickly wiped his straightened hair out of his face, which had also been covered in an illusion to make it look somewhat thinner – he hadn't recognized himself in the mirror so it was unlikely that Dumbledore would know it was him either. He glanced to his side to look into the shocked eyes of Dumbledore.

"Is there something on my face?" Harry couldn't help but ask, and Dumbledore's expression instantly returned to normal, as if his amazement hadn't been obvious. Had the old wizard looked straight through his illusions?

Scrimgeour looked somewhat perplexed too, and stared for a moment before coughing. "Do you require time to consider this idea, or should we move on to other plans, Albus?"

"We will take part in this operation," Dumbledore said with a quick glance at Harry. "I will select several members of the Order to go – I'll make sure there are no Ministry employees among them, I assure you."

"I will select a trusted associate to join us," Harry added, ignoring the odd glances he was still receiving. "When will we go?"

"Tonight." Scrimgeour said with determination. "Getting across the border will be problematic – going through the Dragon Preserves themselves is ill-advised since there are many Law-Wizards presently there studying what transpired, and they would doubtlessly catch a group of six or seven in minutes. I will inform you on the manner of arrival when we are gathered again. I will arrange a meeting is at nine this evening."

"Until then, Rufus," Dumbledore said. "I trust we will meet again, Mr. Black, it has been an honour to meet you. I shall be going now." With a sharp pop, Dumbledore disappeared from the office.

"Did he just apparate out?" Harry asked with confusion in the quietness that followed. "Straight through the wards?"

"He's keyed in." Scrimgeour said with a slight smirk. "It's always helpful to have the most powerful sorcerer this side of Voldemort capable of leaping in here at a moment's notice."

"I can understand," Harry retorted with a smile. "Do you think he noticed it's me?"

"I very much doubt it." Scrimgeour said with that peculiar look still on his face. "What made you consider this particular masquerade? It is most disconcerting, I must admit. Rather effective on Dumbledore as well, I believe."

Harry stared in bewilderment, and Scrimgeour's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "You did not intend to resemble –"

"It was just something I threw together downstairs," Harry admitted.

Scrimgeour chuckled suddenly, a mirthful grin on his face. "Oh, fantastic! By chance you managed to create dozens of conspiracy theories in Dumbledore's mind, I'm sure. Spectacular!" Scrimgeour quickly conjured a flat looking glass and turned it to Harry. "Recognize this face?"

Harry looked at his illusionary appearance – black hair, grey eyes, somewhat gaunt. "Not particularly. A bit like Sirius, I suppose."

"A bit like Sirius, you say." Scrimgeour said with a laugh. "You are the spitting image of his brother, Regulus Black!"

Harry uncertainly glanced back at the mirror, memorizing the features he'd haphazardly charmed on. Coincidence was a bit too questionable here – a chill made its way down his back as he wondered if providence was playing with him. "I barely know anything about him."

"I'd suggest reading up on him – I'd never have considered it, but this could be a _very_ effective concealed identity for you – after all, the real Regulus Black went missing years ago – he was a Death Eater. You'll have to conjure a facsimile of the Dark Mark on your arm, though the fact that you work for me should alleviate at least Albus' reservations."

"You want me to impersonate a Death Eater? " Harry asked incredulously.

"I want you to impersonate Regulus Black, repentant Death Eater who has been working for the Ministry since his disappearance. I requested you to reveal your face to make sure that Dumbledore knew it was not your face under that hood, given that he is most likely unaware that his ability to look through illusions is hampered in this room – now, though, Dumbledore will doubtlessly see it as my intentional unveiling of your identity to him as a show of trust. This can work."

Harry shook his head with a groan. "I'd better go see what I can scrounge up about Regulus, then."

"Make sure you also get a colleague to tag along."

"I'll ask Rafe." Harry said briskly, turning around. "He will do, won't he?"

Scrimgeour merely bobbed, seemingly looking into the distance. "Make sure you keep your cover while working with the Order of the Phoenix – this new façade might well come in handy in interacting with Dumbledore's little clandestine group in the future."

Harry quickly took the elevator one down and headed for the archives – they'd doubtlessly have what he required. He quickly passed by his room and snatched up his manual, and flipped it open to find the section that served as an index for confidential files that Aurors didn't have access to. Quickly flipping through, he stopped in the middle of a step. There, right in the History section – the massacre he'd read about some time ago, during Grindelwald's reign. A symbol – a circle, a triangle and a straight line – beneath it several words.

"Grindelwald Symbol – also known as the symbol of the Deathly Hallows."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Minor references to The Pretender, Lord of the Rings, Norse Mythology, Egyptian Mythology – most of the dragon names are based on the latter mythologies.

Dob is based on a character from a Russian epic narrative poem, _Dobrynya and the Dragon. _

The gravitational artefact here is inspired by the Silver Surfer's board, if you must know.

The Custodians are still inspired by the Green Lantern's Guardians of Oa, though in this chapter one has some inspiration from Snow White's Dwarves. (It is likely Harry will similarly nickname some others in the future.)

This chapter took some time to get up – I'm sorry for that. I was somewhat busy with life-things and writing this chapter fell somewhat by the wayside – the fact that Skyrim was released really didn't help either as it sucked up quite a few hours as well that could've been used more productively. (I wrote down numerous plotbunnies related to the Naruto and TES universes - they may find themselves in a story for oneshot ideas.)

Next one should be quicker. :)


	12. Alias : Second Skin

**Chapter 12 : Second Skin**

_Dragon Reserves _

Several Dragon Reserves are located across the globe to maintain stable populations of all extant dragon species. Although no tame dragons are known, these highly magical creatures contribute a large amount of highly magical reagents, including important alchemical and potions-related ingredients, as well as wandcores.

[...]

The largest Dragon-reserve of Europe is located in Romania, and is the most active dragon research location in the region. The most common species found are the native Romanian Longhorn as well as the Ukrainian Ironbelly and Hungarian Horntail from neighbouring countries. All three species are considered rare due to their relatively small habitat – Muggle encroachment on their usual locations has contributed to their shrinking population, though a stable population has been maintained for the last two centuries.

The Romanian Dragon Reserve currently hosts eleven species for research purposes; since regulations against Dragon breeding remain active, all procreation among the species is uninfluenced by wizards, and mixed breeds are not known to exist at this time.

From '_Unspeakable Primer_' Selected Passages, _P. 490_

* * *

"This is insane." Harry muttered as he shoved a pile of books to the side, balacing precariously on the edge of the large table he's appropriated.

"Having trouble?"

Harry glanced up, unsurprised– an amused Asami Watanabe was looking on from the next floor of the library, hanging precariously over the railing, though she didn't seem to be worried about falling.

"I have a ton of research to do and too many topics to focus on, honestly." Harry admitted, nervously threading a hand through his hair. "It doesn't help that I'm likely to be off on another mission tomorrow."

"They've got you running, huh?" Asami answered with a smirk, dropping down elegantly to the floor in a move that had Harry jealous. "You must have impressed the Minister."

"That makes no sense," Harry pointed out tiredly. "The last mission was pretty much a failure – I mostly ran around chased by vampires and it was another couple of criminals that took care of subduing the targets. It went about as well as can be expected, I suppose, but I was hardly an unflinching rock like some of you."

"That's not very nice, you know," Asami said with a pout. "What're you researching anyway?"

Harry sighed, shoving a few papers aside and uncovering a book on old family histories. "I'm going undercover, and I've only got a few hours to get the basics into my head so I won't stick out too much. It's a hassle, I tell you."

"You're researching a cover in the middle of the library?" Asami wondered with a raised eyebrow. "Not afraid you'll be found out?"

"I had Moody equip this place with all the Dark Detectors he could scrounge up," Harry answered with a shrug. "Nobody short of Dumbledore can come in here and sneak a peek at my work without me knowing, at least."

"Could be useful on the entire Department, couldn't it?" Asami questioned, slumping into a chair nonchalantly while twirling a short dagger on her finger, as Harry had often seen her do before.

"The Department's got plenty of enchantments to detect everything from mosquitoes to mice, it's just not very helpful to me since I'm not the one receiving that information," Harry retorted dryly. "It's just a precaution – Moody approved, as you can imagine."

"Be careful you don't get as paranoid, gaki." Asami stretched and looked interestedly over the various books and documents spread out over the table. "I can't read much more than the covers – some kind of befuddlement charm?"

"A simple one, yeah. I noticed one of the Unspeakables at the Thought Room using it and managed to bribe him into teaching me. A few cups of coffee did the trick, actually." Harry smirked, taking a sip of his own drink – a pint of pumpkin juice. "What are you doing here, Watanabe? Just indulging your ninja wiles and sneaking around?

"Eh, I was bored. Rafe's all pumped about some mission or another, and our poet ghost couldn't stop quoting Yates at anyone who would listen – it got really tiring hanging around there. Figured you were always up to something interesting." Asami picked up one of the books and flipped through it. "Hmmm, old families, eh? Can't read any of it, but the pictures tell me plenty."

Harry grunted in agreement. "I figured you'd already know what I was up to – the Minister said you and your team had some of the highest clearance in the Department."

"I know a bit," Asami admitted. "Not much that I miss around here, honestly. I did the whole Unbreakable Vow thing so I tend to hear the juicy bits. I hear the Prophecy guys have been all over you lately, for example."

"Everyone knows that, I've been going there way more than anyone else cares for. I was talking about this whole hidden identity thing. Shouldn't you be an expert in that, seeing as you call yourself a ninja of all things?"

"Ninjas are just wizards with a unique skill-set," Asami answered with a frown. "We use many of the same spells to hide that British people do – we're just better trained at them. Personally, I've always been more of the sneaky type and worse at blending in. More thief than assassin, I suppose."

"Yes, well, it seems it's my own fault that I got this assignment," Harry said with a shrug. "I changed my features with a basic illusion spell, and apparently I was a bit unfocused – and I practically replicated a dead man. The Minister took advantage of the situation immediately. Just like him to do that, too."

"You managed to replicate a dead man by accident?" Asami asked in confusion. "How on earth did you manage that?"

"Don't ask me, this kind of thing has been happening to me since I started Hogwarts." Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I mean, I accidentally found I was a parselmouth. How do you do that? Not to mention this whole vision thing I've got going on…"

"Did you know the person you turned into?" Asami suddenly asked with a strangely distant look.

"Heard of him, vaguely," Harry said with a grimace.

"Preposterous." The self-proclaimed ninja rose to her feet and started pacing. "Illusion spells are based on the mental image one puts forward when casting the spell. It makes no sense to alter one's appearance into something one didn't imagine, except via Polyjuice Potion."

"Yes, well, I can't explain it either," Harry said with a sigh. "Chalk another up to the weirdness of Harry Potter, I guess."

"If you find out what you did, let me know – if one could actually change into people without knowing what they looked like, that'd be quite a boon for my profession – if that's what you did. I'm pretty sure you'd be breaking a rule of magic, though."

"Eh, rules of magic. I already beat the Killing Curse," Harry said lightly.

"I know."

It didn't take long for Asami to vanish back up to the railing and return wherever she came from – Harry only caught a glimpse of her stalking through the shadows cast by the tall bookshelves before she vanished, seemingly into thin air. With a weary sigh, he returned to his notes.

He's been studying the history of the Black family for the last hour – a tangled mess, all things considered, especially when one considered the many marriages with other pureblood families. He even discovered a Potter or two in the extended family tree, which probably meant he was distantly related to practically every pureblood family in Britain, just like Sirius had been.

Sirius came up several times – most of the books had been updated sometime after his incarceration and were dismissive of him, given that he fit neatly into the profile of a Dark Arts-obsessed madman, much like many of his ancestors. Strangely enough, it seemed that Regulus Black, the man he'd be impersonating, was the only confirmed Death Eater of the lot.

Harry vaguely recalled discussing the issue with Sirius once, but he was pretty sure Regulus hadn't come up as much. Several family trees simply had his face depicted as a skull, though he's scrounged up half a dozen family photos. The likeness with the illusion he's put on was staggering – he had indeed looked near identical to Sirius' brother, though somewhat older. The face was reminiscent of Sirius, though he was somewhat less handsome and a bit pudgier around the cheeks, and the eyes didn't have the warm quality that he was used to.

Not much of Regulus' history was known after he joined the Death Eaters – merely that he'd vanished more or less out of the blue not very long after first joining Voldemort's ranks. Thankfully it seemed that Regulus had relatively little contact with anyone he'd likely meet – none of the Order even came up save Sirius, and he was pretty sure Bellatrix Lestrange nor Narcissa Malfoy would have enough contact with him to figure out the deception. Hogwarts Teachers were probably the ones to worry about most – they'd most likely met Regulus while he was still at school, after all.

Next to the stacks of books on the Black family was a smaller one that focused on that illusive symbol – the Deathly Hallows. Remarkably little was told about the subject, though Harry had not yet had the time to study in-depth. He had more pressing topics right now, given that he only had a few more hours till the meeting with the Order and Minister, and he'd need to have his act ready.

Moody came by for a few moments later in the afternoon, though merely to inform him that Remus would be there that evening. He'd gotten into the habit of changing his scent as well when disguising his features, ever since Rafe kept sniffing him out whenever he'd try to test if he could pass as a stranger. Harry wasn't entirely certain if Moody knew about the plan for the evening – he'd probably not be there, since Dumbledore had promised only members that weren't in the Ministry. This, Harry realized, cut out quite a large number of the people he knew from the Order. Moody, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, he was sure he was forgetting a few others as well. Perhaps it was for the best though – having a few new faces there probably meant he wouldn't be recognized as easily.

With a sigh, Harry jotted down a few of the known details of Regulus' time in the Death Eaters, and then packed up. It was nearing dinnertime and he'd better polish up his illusions using the pictures, given that he couldn't rely on another fluke .Thankfully the voice would be easier to replicate, and the illusions were good enough that he could sneer like an actual Black. He'd probably just have to imagine how he'd look at Malfoy to get the expression right.

* * *

Evening came quickly – dinner had been a decidedly uninteresting affair, given that only half a dozen people were even present, and they'd all kept to themselves. Granted, Rafe had been eager to share details on his mission – but the only person who cared to listen already knew. The werewolf had agreed the moment Harry had even offered to bring him along on the rescue mission for Charlie and the other Dragon Keepers; he'd been thrilled that he was even considered, really. Harry had a sinking feeling that the open discrimination against werewolves was only subdued in the Department, not actually gone, and it was a rarity for the werewolf to be asked rather than assigned to a mission without his choice.

Harry nervously walked past the mirror in his room – he'd quickly muted the talking charm on it, as he'd had quite enough comments about his skinny frame by its Hogwarts brethren. The charms he applied were pretty sophisticated and wouldn't fail at the slightest provocation – though Moody's eye undoubtedly made short work of them. Dumbledore could probably also take a peek through them, were he anywhere he could actually use his particular technique of looking through such magic. Thankfully Dumbledore would be in the warded Ministry tonight, and Moody was elsewhere – though the man would probably not comment on the matter. He'd have to check with Scrimgeour later on whether or not the Auror would be in the loop or not, since a solution would have to be reached either way.

Harry finished his modifications, quickly altered his scent and eye colour and shoved his hood over his face, just to be sure. He'd also put an illusion on his wand – it wouldn't do to have Regulus Black show up with a holly wand, after all. Finally he put the most difficult spell he knew on his arm – one he'd only learned a few days before his trip to the Americas. The modified Protean charm actually did conjure up a convincing Dark Mark – just not a genuine one, thankfully. Much like Hermione's coins used for DA meetings, this one only heated up, though on his command rather than Voldemort's, and was relatively easy to remove. It looked rather horrible and would probably pass a cursory inspection, though.

The trip to the Minister's office was swift – he only need to go up one flight of stairs to get there from his room, after all, and the secretary waved him through without comment. Minister Scrimgeour sat in his usual seat, seemingly preoccupied with a thick stack of documents before him.

"Unspeakable Black reporting as requested," He stated formally, resolved to stick to character as long as he wore this disguise, even if his hood prevented anyone from seeing his face.

"Please sit, Mr. Black. You're early, actually – our guests will be arriving in a few minutes. Is Unspeakable Wolf coming?"

"Unspeakable Wolf?" Harry asked with some incredulity, and Scrimgeour smirked. "I was not instructed to bring him along, though I suppose I could fetch him. I'll tell him what was agreed upon later, in any case. That codename really has to go, though. "

"We can do this without him. Between you and me, he's not the most patient of employees here – cooler heads are probably better." Scrimgeour chuckled then, "The codename's just tradition for Phelan, honestly. He's never been interested in the whole secret identity thing, considering he doesn't really consider his actual identity to be very vulnerable. His condition, you see, it doesn't get him much sympathy."

"I suppose that's alright. He obviously knows about the identity I'm taking on – do any of the others get to know?"

Scrimgeour considered it for a moment. "I'm keeping it silent for now – it's probably best if we make sure that nobody in the Order knows, to prevent things from slipping back to Dumbledore. Moody wouldn't go for an Unbreakable Vow on the topic; that means he's probably to be kept in the dark." Scrimgeour grimaced. "It'll be tough, but there's an answer to every problem."

Harry didn't answer, gazing worriedly at the door. "Do you know which members of the Order are coming?"

"As I understand it, the group will consist of a few veteran members and a couple promising recruits. George and Fred Weasley, I believe."

Harry smirked. "They'll keep morale high, I suppose. Their mother must've finally gotten sick of trying to mother them. I bet they bullied Dumbledore to include them, considering their brother's among the missing."

Scrimgeour shrugged, but he perked up when several voices sounded from the door. The warm voice of Remus Lupin was the first Harry picked up and he shifted slightly, getting ready to act like a proper pureblood – at least he'd had enough exposure to a bunch of those to know the basics. Harry felt a shiver run down his back at the concept of acting like _Malfoy_ of all people – even if he seemed to have mellowed out a bit of late.

Remus Lupin strode in first, his amber eyes focusing briefly on Harry's robed form before nodding at Scrimgeour. He was followed closely by Fred and George Weasley – both looked decidedly morose – as well as a witch Harry couldn't quite place – Hestia something or another?

The last arrival elicited a slight gasp from Harry – though behind his hood he paled. Why hadn't he thought of this possibility? Playacting as a Death Eater was all well and good, but he hadn't taken into account the possibility of the genuine article. Though the robed wizard had a hood over his face – much like Harry himself, there was no mistaking that nose peeking out from under it. Severus Snape.

"Please take a seat," Scrimgeour said morosely as he pointed to the seats. Moments later Dumbledore also passed through the doorway, locking and warding it in passing. Snape immediately swept back his hood though he made no effort to straighten his greasy mop of hair.

Harry received more than a few curious stares – Dumbledore particularly kept sending puzzled glances in his direction, though that was expected. Snape seemed somewhat irritated that Harry hadn't yet put back his own hood – probably he'd expected his own willingness to do so would be sufficient to convince the Unspeakable.

"Now that we're all gathered, we'll have to work out a plan. Officially, you are here to discuss a treaty with the Ministry – I can't just vanish from my station regularly without accounting for my time, after all. " Here, Scrimgeour briefly looked at Harry in amusement. "As such, as of right now the Order of the Phoenix is provisionally tolerated by the Ministry of Magic. I'm sure you have no problem with that – I wrote up the agreement earlier and you may look through it at your earliest convenience, Albus."

Dumbledore seemed somewhat surprised; he'd probably not expected to get anything done so easily with Scrimgeour in charge.

"You five have been elected by your organization to take part in a covert operation on foreign soil – the Ministry will not be held responsible if you happen to be caught and jailed for your activities. Being captured could lead to considerably nastier repercussions than mere jail time, if we were to take responsibility – hostilities would not be excluded from the possibilities."

"Romania would go to war over such a thing?" Remus questioned, his lined face betraying a recent transformation, though he looked worse than Rafe had.

"Romania has never been the most liberal in terms of politics – the Wizarding Ministry there is quite harsh on foreign influences. The Dragon Reserves are really the only location where wizards can visit with relatively little trouble, mostly since the country itself doesn't have particularly many experts in the field. Beyond that, the death penalty remains in effect for many offenses, especially when international elements are involved."

Remus looked decidedly disturbed while Dumbledore merely frowned; the old man likely already knew about these potential problems. None of the others even reacted, not even the twins.

"The seven of you are to infiltrate the country using international Portkeys – they will be traced, though it is unlikely that the Romanian Ministry will have enough time to arrive and take you into custody if you move on immediately. A second set of Portkeys will be taken along to return to the Ministry after you have completed your task." Scrimgeour gestured to a map he'd pinned to the wall – it was decidedly crude, having the look of an old pirate's map, including the red X. "The arrival point will be some fifteen miles from the last known location of the dragons and missing Dragon Keepers. It's approximately fifty miles from the border, so escaping across it would not be easy."

"You mentioned seven – I only count six of us," Remus pointed out. "I doubt Professor Dumbledore is coming along, considering his high profile."

"Unspeakable Wolf, the final member of our group, will be briefed later tonight," Harry said, and Snape gave a start at the sound of his voice. "I can vouch for his allegiance."

"This is Unspeakable Black," Scrimgeour said and he obviously enjoyed the start that several had at the name –Dumbledore had evidently not informed the Order on who was coming along on this venture. "He will be joining you as your primary Ministry contact, and should be sufficiently capable. He and a chosen individual from the Order of the Phoenix will be in command of the operation. I trust him implicitly."

"How can we trust an anonymous Ministry stooge?" Snape asked harshly, "He may well be a Death Eater; we'd have no way to tell."

"Ironic, coming from you, Severus." Harry slipped into his decidedly Slytherin role, leaning forward with an arrogant posture. Snape stiffened, his eyes narrowing to slits as he gazed into the shadowed cowl of the Unspeakable.

"Who _are_ you?"

"You've forgotten me already, Severus? I am disappointed, I must say." With that Harry lowered his hood, unveiling his illusionary features. The long black locks, pale complexion and somewhat emaciated cheeks were just as the pictures, with his sharp grey eyes piercing the Potions Master with an intense look. Snape, for once, seemed speechless.

"Black." He finally ground out, sneering.

"That is my name." Harry agreed, giving a mock bow. "It has been many years since we last saw each other. It was under rather different circumstances, wasn't it?"

"You know this man, Severus?" Remus questioned, though he looked at Harry oddly. "He's vaguely familiar…"

"Of course he's familiar," Fred said with a raised eyebrow. "He's in several pictures at Headquarters. That's Regulus Black."

Dumbledore's eyes in particular were focused on Harry with an intense look of contemplation, which flicked to Harry's forearm and back to his face several times. The woman didn't betray any recognition, which set Harry a bit at ease, at least. Just one that actually seemed to have knowledge of his persona would be coming along.

"Shouldn't you be dead?" George asked, confused. "I swear it said you died as a-"

"Death Eater? Yes." Harry answered, and both the twins gasped, though none of the others seemed surprised. "It has been some years since I was involved with that particular group."

"You disappeared," Dumbledore mused, his eyes sharp. "How long has the Ministry known of your survival?"

"Since the beginning," Harry said, glancing at Scrimgeour. "The day I vanished is the day I joined the Unspeakables – my identity was hidden to prevent my former – colleagues – from finding me. Suffice to say that with the re-emergence of the Dark Lord, my survival will not remain a secret much longer."

"Why not?" Remus wondered. "If you keep that hood up, nobody would even guess you were hiding here, except the people in this room. Everyone thinks you're dead."

"Do you believe the Dark Lord is stupid, Lupin?" Harry asked harshly, pained to have to snarl at his old teacher. "I may have left his service, but not all marks of the position can be easily erased. It will be a matter of time before He discovers that my particular brand remains active." It was a calculated lie – though it was true that Voldemort could send signals to particular Dark Marks, several bodies in the Ministry morgue attested to the fact that the Dark Mark continued to activate even on a corpse – the person in question was merely beyond responding to it. It would be rumours rather than Voldemort's own tricks that would inform him of Regulus' alleged survival – and it was doubtful that the dark wizard would admit to such a lowly source of the information.

"How can we trust you? How do we know you're not still a Death Eater?" George asked, sending a glance towards Snape as well.

"I have made an Unbreakable Vow to take my position, Mr. Weasley. As you may know, such an oath cannot be broken, except through death." Harry observed dryly. "I will not require you to do the same – the restrictions would be problematic for you more so than for myself."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, still gazing at Harry with some degree of wonder. "Mr. Black, I require a conversation with you at a later time – I shall make an appointment. For now, I believe I will trust the Minister and his safeguards to ensure your loyalty."

"I have been loyal to the Ministry since my arrival here," Harry said genuinely. "I will not betray my position."

"Why did you not let your brother know you still lived?" Dumbledore asked sadly, melancholy in his eyes. "He would have loved knowing that you escaped Voldemort's clutches."

Harry hissed at Dumbledore speaking the Dark Lord's name, thinking it was decidedly odd he was now acting like Ron had in first year, just for a role. "I have heard of the claims regarding Sirius' innocence. Honestly, I was as convinced as anyone that he was responsible for the crimes he was jailed for. I believed much like anyone that he betrayed all he'd ever stood for. I admit I was tempted to contact him after his escape, but I convinced myself it would be better to do so when I actually knew where he was. He was dead before I had a chance."

Harry felt terrible for recounting such a decidedly false perspective on Sirius' life and the thoughts of his deceased godfather must've shown on his face – his grief-stricken pallor was not faked and the look in Dumbledore's eyes softened.

"It seems the last generation of Black turned out well after all," Dumbledore muttered, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't have thought it possible."

"You've not met my cousins, I take it." Harry said lightly, eliciting a guffaw from Fred and George and a sardonic smile from Dumbledore.

The conversation quickly turned to serious matters, covering the means of entry via a rubber tyre Portkey, the target location and the approximate number of foes to be expected – at least twice their number, perhaps more. Snape kept gazing at Harry with those hawk-like eyes of his, though his face otherwise betrayed nothing – the rest of the Order had seemingly accepted his presence, at least for now.

It took almost three hours of constant debating and disagreeing between Dumbledore and Scrimgeour, but a semblance of a plan had been formed. Harry had largely tuned out the conversation in favour of studying the people he'd be travelling with; He knew four of them fairly well, but not the woman – he remembered her now from the year before, as she was among those who's gotten him to Grimmauld place. She's been introduced as Hestia Jones somewhere along the way.

Snape seemed satisfied with glaring at Harry, his eyes suspicious though he's not tried using Legilimency – not that he'd have quite as easy an entrance to Harry's mind as last time around. It was possible that Regulus and Snape had met as Death Eaters, though it didn't seem likely that the two would have had any significant contact there. It seemed for now that only Dumbledore had any significant memories of Regulus – and a solid decade and a half could probably account for a lot of the differences he might display compared to the old Regulus. He knew for example that he should've been severely prejudiced against Remus – anti-Werewolf sentiments were rather common among the old families. The fact that he'd allegedly worked as an Unspeakable for over a decade could account for his relaxed attitudes, though.

It was finally agreed upon that they'd all set off the next morning at nine – border patrol was even stronger at night, so the odds of getting caught went way up if they went now. Nobody seemed quite fit anymore after the lengthy planning session, in any case. Thankfully, it seemed unlikely that the Death Eaters would rush his prizes away – for one, there was no way they'd be able to transport half a dozen dragons at once without a lot of preparation.

When the Order members finally left, Dumbledore remained behind the group, looking back at Harry who'd followed him to the door.

"If I had known-" Dumbledore stated, looking particularly frail. Harry shrugged.

"I found my own solution, much like Severus it seems." Harry said carefully. "I considered going to you, but I was afraid I'd be taken in before I could reach you. I never did have anyone at school that could really be trusted."

"Oh, Regulus…" Dumbledore said sadly. "I have misjudged you severely, it seems. Just… could you do an old man a favour?"

"Name it." Harry said, rubbing his arm absentmindedly as his illusionary Dark Mark tingled – Dumbledore noticed the gesture but didn't react.

"You must know that Harry Potter has joined the Unspeakables recently – you might've already met. He was quite close to your brother and I believe you two should meet. I dare not hope for the kind of relationship Harry lost, but perhaps it could give him some closure."

"Harry and I have spoken." Harry said, feeling decidedly weird in talking about himself in the third person. "He approached me, actually. At times, I feel he's handling the loss better than I am." Harry chuckled internally, smiling thinly at Dumbledore. "I believe we will survive."

"Very well. I will arrange for a conversation at a later time – I'm sure you know what it is about. We must pool our resources before this war gets any worse." Dumbledore turned, his eyes twinkling merrily. "I have every confidence that you will return the missing, Mr. Black."

Harry remained behind until Dumbledore left, smiling vaguely. Dumbledore, it seemed, was willing to give anyone a shot – though really he hadn't expected any different. If Snape could make his way into Dumbledore's good graces, anyone could.

Then, he frowned. Dumbledore's vague mentions of a future conversation weighed on his mind, as he had little to go on regarding its subject. He'd need to do more research into the wizard's activities close to his death – though he had no clue where to get them. He knew very few sources of information from that time, and scant few witnesses to call upon.

* * *

"Can we trust him?" Hestia asked seriously, her neutral expression finally giving way. She'd managed to keep her surprise at Regulus Black's appearance quite hidden, though she suspected that Regulus himself had picked up on it.

"He's a Black," Snape muttered darkly. "He might not be the black sheep, but that entire family has been unstable, particularly in the last war. The last I ever saw of him he seemed as committed as ever to the Dark Lord's cause."

George and Fred were discussing the meeting between themselves, often interrupting each other halfway through their comments, as if they knew what the other was thinking before they'd even verbalized it. Remus briefly tried to figure it out but gave up and focused on Dumbledore.

"I do not know if we can trust Regulus Black," Dumbledore began with a frown, "though not for the reasons most of you would suspect. The Minister has assured me that Black made an Unbreakable Vow – one that includes a rejection of Voldemort's ideals. No, I am more worried that after a long time in the employ of the Ministry, he may be little more than Scrimgeour's personal spy."

"Scrimgeour seems willing to work with us, though." Remus said with a frown. "You'd think if he were suspicious of us he would not invite us here."

"He allies with us because it is convenient," Dumbledore said carefully. "We are a means to an end – if the Ministry had a suitable group available, we would doubtlessly have been ignored. He views the Order as a resource, rather than a true ally. I'm sure his heart is in the right place – he wishes for victory as much as we do – but his means are not the most scrupulous."

"That is somewhat rich coming from us," George snorted. "We're an illegal organization, sort of. We're practically a private militia."

Remus glared at George, though Dumbledore shrugged at the accusation. "We do the things we must, in times of war. That doesn't mean we cannot prepare for the actions of others. I would suggest keeping a close eye on Black, to see where his true allegiance lies – whether he is in this to conquer Voldemort, or merely as a Ministry puppet."

"Should we really be upset if he is a Ministry man, though?" Hestia questioned lightly. "Clearly the Ministry saved his life in the First War – he's made it to adulthood without anyone even knowing he survived. A remarkable feat considering who was Minister before this – I suspect that the Department of Mysteries itself may have something to do with it and the Minister merely snatched up the potential later."

"The Department of Mysteries does prefer being prepared," Dumbledore agreed. "I do not claim that the Minister is incompetent – and certainly not the Unspeakables – merely that we should be careful. There is more than mere politics that plays a role here, and we cannot see all the plots."

"I will coax Black into answering some questions," Snape said suddenly. "We share a history, of sorts. Perhaps he would be more willing to explain his survival to one who has also left that fold."

Dumbledore agreed, turning to Snape. "Remember, Severus, you should keep yourself hidden, as your role may be compromised if the Death Eaters catch on to your identity. If I knew anyone else to entrust the security of this rescue to, I would have chosen them."

Snape acquiesced, bringing up his hood. "Charles will return safely."

"I have no doubt of that, Severus." Dumbledore concluded softly, as the group made their way to the nearest apparition point – unlike Dumbledore, none of the others could do it from the Minister's office. Dumbledore pondered to himself as he followed – the appearance of Regulus Black threw a new variable into his carefully considered plans. Someone outside his personal circle knew one of the most important secrets that could be known.

* * *

I really do not understand your blind belief in the boy, Rufus. You're sending him into another country – undercover - without training!"

Scrimgeour scowled as he turned to the enraged Jocelyn Burbidge who had once again chosen to invade his office – this time she'd brought a colleague along, though Aeron Croaker seemed merely amused and raised a scornful eyebrow at his glance.

"I have my reasons, Jocelyn," Rufus declared, though Jocelyn jeered immediately.

Croaker coughed, forgetfully fiddling with the rings in his ear that tinkled softly against each other. "The lad will be fine."

Jocelyn glared at Croaker, sighing deeply. "Et tu, Brute? What on earth do you see in the boy? He's probably more driven than most his age, but he's been here for, what, a month or two? He's imitating a long-term employee! He might get people killed!"

Croaker smiled enigmatically. "You misjudge him, for one. Do you believe it chance that _he_ resurfaced just as Potter was assigned to the mission in America? I don't believe in such luck."

"The traitor." Burbidge spat. "The report I read was hardly stellar – Potter was barely in control and was ultimately released, he didn't escape."

Croaker shared a conspiratorial look with Scrimgeour. "Yes, well, perhaps there is more going on that even you know, Jocelyn. Shouldn't you prepare for a far more local menace?"

"I am aware of the looming Death Eater attack, if that is what you mean," Burbidge answered coldly. "I maintain that we are not satisfactorily prepared."

"I understand your concern, but it is misplaced," Scrimgeour said airily. "The rat believes he has found us out, but he has been tampering with irrelevancies ever since he arrived. Though the exact date of the attack is unknown, we do have a ballpark figure – within three weeks."

Croaker glanced over at Jocelyn and smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure things will be fine. Certainly Potter will be. That boy will go far – I could tell when I first met him."

Burbidge didn't answer as she stood, turning to the exit. "If something happens to Potter, I will hold you two accountable. You toy with lives far too easily. If you'll excuse me." She left quickly, leaving the two in silence.

They sat together without speaking, Scrimgeour leafing through the thick folder that hadn't left his desk in weeks. "Do you believe we can maintain this?" the Minister asked inquisitively.

"It is necessary. I have no doubt that things would get quite problematic if Burbidge's boss got involved in all of this." Scrimgeour sighed weakly. "I'm the Minister for Magic and yet there are still people that perhaps know more than me about the whole enchilada. It's an uncomfortable thought."

"They'll get mistrustful if Potter keeps getting these missions – and you know that report has plenty more in store, if you keep following it to the letter. Have you _read_ what's-"

"Yes, Aeron," snapped the Minister. "It is unbelievable and if I weren't convinced that these reports were sincere, I'd probably have thrown them away as so much baloney. But they're not – and I can't afford to diverge from the path I've set out on. It's the only way to keep going. Time will follow this path."

"People will be devastated." Croaker retorted nervously.

"I know. " Scrimgeour jumped to his feet, striding through his office. "I am aware of the stakes. If my plan goes wrong, we might well lose all. I can't envisage things will be pleasant for a while in any case. But I know more than you – I know the moment of truth."

"You have already told me that the file is from a time when conflicts remain. The war is still going when this was sent back – how would you know what you should do? Who could possible send you that message that you'd force everyone-"

"The person I trust most in the world." Scrimgeour said, his eyes narrow as he dared Croaker to contradict. "I appreciate your help and your understanding, but believe me when I say that I have chosen the best possible road to end this war. The events in this folder will happen, and things will go wrong – but that does not mean I cannot make things go wrong in the best possible way."

"Now you sound like you're from the Temporal Division, honestly." Croaker answered with a wry leer. Croaker stared at his friend for a while before shrugging. "Rufus – don't screw this up."

"I won't." Scrimgeour replied softly, turning his back to Croaker. "I dare not."

* * *

Harry spent the remainder of his evening much as he'd spent the afternoon – studying. He'd already packed his bag - he'd left his Invisibility Cloak behind as he'd have a tough time explaining how he'd managed to get one given their rarity, and it'd make an unfortunate connection to his true self. He'd already gone over his spell repertoire – although he knew no real dark magic, he had enough spells to probably come across as a pretty decently educated Hogwarts graduate, though with a handful of nasty Post-NEWT surprises. It would have to do – he could always explain his disinclination to use dark magic as relating to his rejection of being a Death Eater.

He hadn't hit a goldmine regarding Regulus Black until he, by accident, came across a peculiar book regarding Hogwarts graduates – Black appeared in it as his sixteen-year old self, likely shortly before he joined the Death Eaters. The advantage there was that the pictures were sufficiently charmed that they responded audibly – even if they weren't terribly sentient like the Hogwarts paintings. The picture-Regulus did inform Harry quite surreptitiously that his brother was a lout and that he had a secret crush, though he was reluctant to tell for whom. More prodding had led to the picture spilling quite a lot of information on his former class, though Harry barely recognized any of the names. Apparently the pictures were at their best when asked directly about what they got up to in school. A handful of the tales included people he was familiar with – Sirius, Snape, and even one that featured Harry's father, which led to him tearing up slightly – the little picture actually looked remorseful after that.

He'd closed off the night with a last look at his data regarding the 'Deathly Hallows' ; several sources pointed to 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard', the children's fairy-tale book that was resting in his bookcase, while others pointed to far more obscure works, most of which were on loan from the Ministry Archives. Two of them, it seemed, to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts – ever since the forties. Harry snorted as he imagined the kind of fine that was probably warranted for hoarding obscure research works for half a century. Likely the books had simply been donated to the school and forgotten about.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard had found its way into his bag for the following day – he'd read a tale about a stump with some casual interest, and perhaps he'd get to continue his reading in a calm moment. He made sure to charm the cover a dull grey, also packing his manual with the same veneer – it'd probably stop uncomfortable questions on why he was reading a children's book.

Harry was convinced he'd only just closed his eyes when the old clock on his bedside table chimed him awake quite loudly. He sprang up with a sputter and slapped it off, though not before he fumbled clumsily out of his bed, his legs tangled up in it.

Tetchy, Harry went to his mirror and cleaned himself up – he immediately put up his disguise as he would be able to put his flattened hair right properly. Harry casually wondered why he'd never looked up this spell while at Hogwarts – the tangled mess he was used to was finally under control and he actually sort of liked having it down – though he knew that he couldn't afford to actually do it while others were around, given that it'd look remarkably like Regulus' Black current style. With a sigh Harry altered his voice and put on a remarkably nice black-and-iridescent-green robe. Harry was thankful it at least didn't have any snakes on it, though he supposed to the Slytherin colours fit Regulus well – as they should, given that it had been his house.

He still had some trouble putting himself in the role of Regulus – Harry supposed it would take some time to get used to, though it had come fairly easily the day before. Thinking like a Slytherin was not too difficult for him – of course, it had been a toss-up between Gryffindor and that house with the hat, so it only made sense. Embracing one's inner Slytherin – Harry figured Ron would be appalled at the very idea. A content smirk made its way onto Harry's face – on Regulus' face, it looked quite natural.

Since he wasn't wearing his Unspeakable Robe, (those had so many charms on them they'd stand out like a beacon to the border patrol) Harry was wearing an actual hooded robe of the normal variety, covering as much of his face as he could manage. He used the back hallways that were usually calm to make his way to the departure location – the same long-distance Portkey location that he'd left from with Moody.

He was the second to arrive – Rafe was already stretched out on one of the benches, looking decidedly relaxed where he sat. Unlike last time the entire place was enclosed with a dark dome to shut out the light – and give some confidentiality. Likely the Minister had arranged for it to be locked off entirely this morning to prevent anyone from inadvertently noticing the group leaving.

"Are you ready, Potter?" Rafe asked noisily and Harry winced, shoving back his hood.

"I think you'll find that is not my name." Harry said grandly, looking sharply at the werewolf. Rafe snorted loudly in response with a maniacal grin.

"Look at you! If I'd known you were going with this kind of cool get-up I'd have arranged something special for myself rather than regular old me!"

"You'd better avoid outing me when the others get here," Harry muttered darkly as he sat down next to Rafe. "It'll be hard enough to keep in character without you blurting out my real name."

"I'm not an idiot – Regulus. This place is rigged with detection charms just like most of our Department – we're alone. I figured I'd see if I could actually fluster you. You did well." Rafe smiled toothily. "I hear Lupin is coming? It's been a while since I've spoken to kin."

"Kin?" Harry wondered curiously. "You're family?"

Rafe grimaced, turning away. "Of sorts. Same father, if you get my meaning."

"Greyback." Harry guessed, remembering Remus once talking about how he'd become a werewolf.

"Bitten when I was a kid," Rafe agreed. "I attended Hogwarts for a few years before I had to drop out due to personal difficulties – I got lucky, though. I lived in Ireland at the time and got myself picked up at a small school there. Nothing quite like Hogwarts but it had a large forest out back where I could rage during the full moon – and I had a talent for teaching myself anything I wished, so I didn't really bother the teachers. I don't think any of them ever found out, given that I already elected to sleep alone."

"That must've been tough," Harry said wonderingly. "Remus managed at Hogwarts, but there were some close calls."

"Oh, I know all about Remus," Rafe said in amusement. "We didn't find out about each other until well after we had gone our different ways – we'd probably have picked up on each other when we got nearer to adulthood and we got our superior senses, though. I usually used the Floo to go home for the transformations, so we didn't really interact then either."

Harry hummed in response, thinking of what it'd be like to be a werewolf – he had only seen one transformation, but it'd been quite enough. The enhanced senses probably didn't make up for the unbearably painful monthly torture.

The representatives of the Order arrived after each other in a quick series of pops and cracks – Snape landed solidly while Hestia Jones balanced awkwardly on her toes and quickly moved to the side. Fred and George had arrived on the far end and were apparently deciding which of the two had pulled them slightly off course, while Remus had immediately turned to stare at Rafe.

"Phelan."

"Lupin."

The two glowered briefly at each other, both sets of amber eyes glowing. Harry was about to interrupt when the two suddenly chuckled and shook hands. "It's been years, my friend."

"Indeed – so you've found yourself a place in the Ministry, eh? I did wonder where you'd crept off to." Remus then turned to Harry with a sad smile. "A good morning to you to, Mr. Black. I didn't get to do this yesterday – my condolences for the loss of your brother. He and I were quite close."

Harry stood up stiffly, incapable of keeping the fleeting look of grief off his face as he thought back to the events of that crazy day when Sirius died. "Thank you, Mr. Lupin. I regret not meeting him again before the end. It seems he and I shared more in common than either of us knew."

Harry felt awful – like the day before, he was spinning a fitting story, but he was really adding to Regulus' life. It was essential to keep the cover, he supposed – but it was depressingly like he was stealing the man's life.

"There is something pertaining Sirius that I'd wanted to discuss – we have a few minutes before the Portkey's set to go, we have time. You see, Sirius left something of a will, but we can't get access to it since apparently we weren't in it. It seems likely that Sirius didn't get to change it after his escape from Azkaban – after all, he was a criminal – so it may still be as it was in the first war. Do you know–"

Harry realized that this was perfect – he'd received a notification of this nature from Gringotts, weeks ago. He'd received some money from the Black vault and documents – Harry had swept it aside at the time as he really didn't need it and he didn't want to think about taking Sirius' money or things. It'd be fitting if those belongings stayed with the Black name, even if it was only symbolically – Sirius would probably appreciate the trick.

"I received that inheritance, yes." Harry agreed, scratching his ear. "Was Sirius using our old house? Could've sworn he'd burn the place down the first time he'd set a step back there, seeing as how much he disliked it."

"It is in use, yes." Remus said dispassionately. "We should discuss that some other time – I'd appreciate buying the property from you, considering moving would be a hassle."

"Hmmm, was there anything worthwhile left?" Harry inquired, thinking rapidly over what remained at the old Black house as he recalled it. "I haven't been back in forever."

"A few Black heirlooms, I suppose – and the old house-elf, of course. Quite a hassle, that one."

Harry froze. Kreacher. He had been pining over a witness of Regulus life – and now, seeing as he inherited the place and everything in it from Sirius – he actually _owned_ one. Remus cocked his head at the wizard's perplexed expression. Harry reacted in the only way he could think of that would explain his expression. "Kreacher is _alive_?"

There was a piercing crack and a small house-elf with a bulbous, snout-like nose, bloodshot eyes, a great many folds of skin and white hair growing out of his bat-like ears appeared and snapped to attention. It didn't take the elf more than a few moments to go incredibly wide-eyed and pale.

"Master… Master Regulus?" Kreacher squeaked, blinking madly. "No, Master Regulus is dead. Can't be. Kreacher has been drinking too much, far too much. Oh my poor mistress, what would she think if she saw Kreacher now? Poor Kreacher…" With a crack the house-elf vanished again, leaving a bemused Harry and Remus behind.

"I suppose I'll see if I can talk some sense into him later," Harry pointed out. Meanwhile he was thinking swiftly. Kreacher had said dead. Not missing, dead. Apparently the old house-elf considered Regulus his Master, as well. What did the old fellow know?

"It'll have to wait until after the rescue, though." Remus pointed out as he moved to the thick rubber tyre that one of the others had placed in the centre of the dais. "We're about to go."

"What were you doing with the Black house-elf, Lupin?" Snape inquired with a sneer as he approached. "Nobody's seen neither hide nor hair of the trollop since its Master vanished – I believed it'd long since beheaded itself."

"Only you would think that," Lupin commented, amused. "Seemingly I've found our lost heir."

Snape scoffed. "So the mutt left the remains of the Black fortune to _you_?"

"So it appears," Harry said softly, eying Snape suspiciously. The man had been acting intentionally awful since that morning – was he suspecting something? Perhaps expecting something? "You seem anxious, Severus."

Snape didn't deign that with a response. He grabbed the tyre and Harry quickly followed – Rafe put his foot on it with a smirk. "Makes for a wild ride," He pointed out. Remus sighed in exasperation and was the last to touch the object – the moment he did there was a sharp jerk behind Harry's navel and in a disjointed blur they were gone.

* * *

Luna Lovegood hummed to herself as she wrote for the Quibbler with her extravagant swan feather dipped in ink – her father would certainly appreciate this stellar journalism, given that it was based on numerous personal anecdotes from several classmates she'd gotten to talk. The recounted tales of romantic woes would fit great with the interview her dad had sent her – he'd managed to talk a semi-retired curse-breaker into speaking about his profession during one of the man's solo hunts for artefacts. She read over her father's writing:

"_All I wanted to do was study the settlement's remarkably well-preserved kiln," said the 58-year-old Whitman, carefully recoiling the rope he had just used to clamber out of a pit filled with giant rats. "I didn't want to be chased by yet another accursed manifestation of an ancient god-king's wrath."_

Luna glanced over at the rising sun – yet another night she'd missed, unfortunately. She'd have to make sure to catch up in the weekend.

She glanced over to the stairs – someone had entered Ravenclaw Tower – entered, when almost everyone was still asleep. She got up swiftly and curiously looked over the handrail.

"Luna Lovegood," the person said, unsurprised by her arrival. He was wearing a heavy ebony-coloured hooded cloak and around his neck was a heavy golden chain with what appeared to be an hourglass at the end.

"That's me, yes. I'm afraid a tour of Ravenclaw Tower would not be very practical now – people would probably get upset over being woken up-"

"I came for other reasons," the figure said. "I come from the Department of Mysteries."

"Of course you do," Luna said with a smile. "You know you could've just sent a letter, right? Sneaking into the school at night is probably not something the Headmaster really likes." Luna descended the stairs two steps at a time.

"Do you know why I'm here?" the figure asked, his (her?) voice masked by a charm.

"You need my help with something?" Luna cocked her head to the side. "Do you need a tour after all?"

The Unspeakable chuckled briefly. "I do need your help, yes – the Ministry needs your help. You remember what occurred during the summer, correct?"

"Of course," Luna agreed. "We had that nice dinner with Harry on his birthday."

"Indeed. You recall what you were told then, by _her_? "

Luna's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh."

"Oh." The Unspeakable confirmed.

Luna suddenly looked flustered, toying with a flower that she'd put behind her ear the day before. "Does the Headmaster know?"

"Not yet."

"Shouldn't he know? I mean, after Harry…"

"I'm afraid that he has no say in the matter – this is entirely my responsibility." The Unspeakable tapped Luna softly on the head. "He will be informed after."

"Won't people be worried?"

"Your father knows a little," the Unspeakable said with a shrug. "The others will hear what they need."

"I suppose," Luna said. "Can I at least leave a note?"

"Keep it simple."

Half an hour later, the first students descended from the Ravenclaw dormitories. Luna Lovegood was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stood looking out from his office, a pensive look on his face. He distractedly put his hand in his pocket, retrieving a small locket, hexagonal with an amber front. He stared at it for some time. He dangled it from his fingers, frowning. Finally, he flicked the locket open, as he'd done many times over the last two weeks.

Inside it was a folded note, yellowed and aged. The handwriting was winding and graceful, the hallmark of a proud pureblood:

_To the Dark Lord_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more._

_R. A. B._

* * *

**Author's Note :** Small references to the Onion, as well as bite-sized bits that point to other fanfics, though not much.

I tackled Sirius inheritance as something less remarkable than it's often portrayed – the Wizarding world never seemed terribly progressive so I figured there would simply be a shortlist of who receives things, rather than excessive readings. (Considering Dumbledore's will, this seems pretty consistent with canon.)

Stay tuned for more as next chapter, we will see what Harry, Rafe, Remus, Snape, George, Fred and Hestia get up to in far-out Romania. The fact that they're awfully close to Transylvania might give them pause, though.

Minor Spoilerific:

If you didn't get the basic gist of the inheritance : The letter itself will appear later on, but the basic idea is that Sirius' will from the first war remained active – it listed James and Lily as the primary recipients of what he owned (at the time not that much) for their help after he was kicked out of the house; as a result, Harry received everything. Obviously only Harry knows since he was the only recipient – and since he never did tell Dumbledore, they worried about who Grimmauld belonged to (the Fidelius remains active obviously.) Given that Regulus is alive, an obvious answer to the mystery presents itself and Harry snatches the opportunity.


	13. Romania : Reconnaissance

**Chapter 13: Mission Romania - R****econnaissance**

_In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves._ – Carl Sagan

* * *

The landing was harsh and sudden – Harry stumbled to his knees painfully as the intensity of the sudden shock sent him to the ground, his elbow crashing into Rafe's shin as he rolled and landed haphazardly against Snape's side. He hurriedly removed himself from the tangle though he didn't miss the Potion Master's fierce scowl. Thankfully, nobody had made it without falling over, so he didn't stand out – with so many using the same Portkey, one that was especially made to be as undetectable as possible, this was bound to happen. The trip, if anything, had been more psychedelic than usual, and it took some effort to stop his stomach from protesting.

"Is everyone okay?" Remus asked gingerly, stretching out his limbs – he, much like Rafe, seemed to have little to no side-effects from the actual trip; doubtlessly enhanced strength and agility due to their lycanthropy helped out considerably. Harry swore he could feel even the bones in his ears protesting. Hestia Jones was blushing terribly, having landed quite solidly on the laps of the Weasley twins, who couldn't help smirking widely at the embarrassing position and were poking her lightly in the side while chuckling. She got herself to her feet and dusted off her clothes with a blush.

Harry shook himself as Remus turned to him, slipping into his poorly rehearsed new role. He remembered to keep in mind to call the man Lupin, though the name felt somewhat foreign on his tongue after having been corrected into calling him Remus instead. The werewolf coughed into his hand, attracting the attention of the Order of the Phoenix members that were still busy checking themselves over. "I believe we should move out immediately, as Romanian wizards are likely to find the Portkey use within minutes, even if it was a good one."

"Right, right," Hestia stated nervously, glancing at Snape with a raised eyebrow; the Potions Master was sneering nastily at nothing in particular, clearly still ruffled by his undignified stumble into the dirt. "We needed to go north, right? Let's go, then – I'll clean up our trail, I know the spells." She murmured something under her breath before practicing a complex wand movement, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Remus didn't object to Hestia's suggestion; he was the assigned leader of the Order members that had come along, even if it was almost certain that it was actually Snape that was calling the shots, knowing Dumbledore. Harry rather doubted the Headmaster would send his personal Death Eater spy along just because he was good with a wand.

The trek north was tranquil – the slightly wooded area was all but abandoned by even wildlife, as only a few woodland animals scurried across the path and even they seemed unafraid of the passing humans. This would suggest that they were rather far from the nearest inhabited settlement, Muggle or otherwise. Hestia regularly cast spells behind them, her hand barely stopping its elegant movement as she scrawled runic symbols into the sky – cleaning spells as well as diffusion spells which were generally used to decontaminate areas brimming with dark magic, but which would work equally well to hide the passage of wizards; Hermione had mentioned the latter once, as an optional project for Ancient Runes, though Harry hadn't really paid attention. He didn't know the spells, or even the runes – probably a good thing to look up, next time he was in the library.

"At this speed, it'll take us hours to get there," Fred said unusually glumly, looking questioningly at Harry – probably he was worried about his brother Charlie, as George looked equally glum and determined. "Mr. Black – we took along brooms, why aren't we using them?"

"Using brooms now would defeat the purpose of _hiding_, Mr. Weasley," Harry responded shortly, smirking. "You might not have realized, but flying brooms are _magical objects_. The only reason we can use any magic at all is that we're keeping it to innocuous cleaning charms, generally considered too inconsequential to keep track of by even the most uptight of magical law enforcement agencies." He smiled, then. "When we inevitably get into a stand-off with Death Eaters though, brooms may well be our ticket out of a tight spot."

Fred and George spent the next half hour discussing something decidedly obscure, as the few words Harry caught were rather arcane and complicated – some had the decidedly high-tech-sounding vibe of modern Muggle electronics, which Harry didn't realize the boys even knew about, given their father's weird opinions on the topic. The two were passing small packages back and forth that they pulled from their pockets and Harry looked on with casual interest. Snape hadn't said a word since they'd left, though he had repeatedly seemed ready to start a conversation before frowning and backing off, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. Not once had the man tried to use Legilimency – thankfully, Harry was fairly confident he'd be able to fend off the wizard now, at least long enough to turn away. Remus sent sad looks at 'Regulus' on occasion – doubtlessly he was still thinking about Sirius' connection with him.

"We're close enough," Harry announced as he recognized a tall and spindly clock tower that stuck haphazardly out of the ruins of what had to be a long-abandoned church; the bell was just hanging on by a thread, seemingly about to fall over. Harry briefly mused that evidently ghost towns were destined to be part of his missions; he hoped dearly that vampires weren't. "This was one of the landmarks the Minister pointed out – the bell tower of a place called 'Rejtettfalu', one of several ancient part-wizard towns that were spread around Hungary but lost during the war with Grindelwald. The dragons and their thieves were tracked to around two miles east of here, in the hills."

"Two miles away, and we haven't heard a peep," Hestia muttered. "They must have those dragons sedated or completely covered in silencing charms."

Harry nodded worriedly. "They're miles from any Muggles here – there would be no need to silence them so completely, given that Romanian Aurors do not have the kind of information we have regarding their location. Besides, Death Eaters wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone that approached to check."

"How are we going to tackle this?" Remus asked, gesturing Fred and George forward. "Fred and George can cause a diversion, if we need it – they've brought along a small arsenal of magical traps and distractions."

"I would suggest a bidirectional assault," Harry said under his breath, frowning. Moody had been teaching him basic war tactics – while trading magical attacks with him in a duel, of course – and it came in handy now. "If we make them believe there's only one group of attackers, the others may catch them off guard by sneaking in through the back. Our first priority is freeing the prisoners, which should be their task, after which they get out and everyone takes off. We are NOT here to take down as many Death Eaters as we can – leave that to the Aurors."

"One group barges in the front, diverts attention," Remus concluded with a nod. "Assuming the Death Eaters are properly prepared, they've blanketed their entire location with wards to keep out Ministry detection, and to prevent apparition – we can use any spell we like, and the wards will keep them in as much as us. I'd think it best that Fred and George are on the assaulting team, at least, given their destructive merchandise."

"I can provide healing, if it's necessary," Hestia supplied hesitantly. "I took a few courses – I'll go with whoever needs that most." She nodded at Lupin with a smile, quickly scooting back.

Snape grumbled, glaring at the twins in disdain as they discussed amongst themselves what mayhem they were going to rain down on the Death Eaters – some awfully bomb-like items made their way out of pockets and exchanged hands, most of them labelled broadly with bright colours. "I take it you're going with these brats, Lupin?"

"So am I," Rafe said, smiling widely as Remus nodded. "I'm not big on the whole subtlety thing, if you catch my drift. Much more likely to blow someone up than sneak up on 'em." He snickered slightly. "I can cause mayhem easily enough, though."

"Unspeakable Wolf is definitely better suited for your group," Harry said dryly, looking at Hestia and Snape. "I would suggest a small team is best for sneaking in. There is an obvious answer here as to whom should make up that group - two of us have the means of passing a cursory inspection."

"What do you – Ah." Lupin nodded in realization, sending a troubled look at Harry. "The Dark Mark. Right."

Snape glared at Lupin, rubbing his arm without really thinking about it as he seemed to briefly contemplate the idea. He sent a look of intense loathing Harry's way, though it had no apparent effect and seemed rather forced. Finally he nodded tiredly. "Very well, I will go with Black."

"You don't have to sound so disappointed," Harry put in amusedly, tapping the black-clad man on the shoulder – he flinched away, glaring. "It'll be like old times!"

"We'll need a signal to make sure we actually divert attention," Lupin continued, ignoring the interplay. "You'll have to get in and release the hostages quickly, as it's doubtful that even Death Eaters will leave their flanks open for very long – especially if Voldemort's around."

Harry shrugged, doubting that the Dark Lord was anywhere near – even if his scar was fairly normal now, he suspected strongly that close proximity would still result in a blighter of a headache. "Severus – I trust you took the appropriate potions along?"

Snape scoffed, tapping on his breast pocket. "A few essentials and a small batch of Polyjuice- no more than four doses." Snape drew a few out of his pocket and handed them over begrudgingly.

"That should be enough," Harry muttered. "Scrimgeour supplied me with some hairs, in case we require a new identity on the double for ourselves or the abductees – known Death Eaters, a few high profile Aurors to scare off the enemy, that sort of thing. They're charmed to disintegrate when coming into contact with anyone but me, though, so you'll have to make do with hairs we find around here for now, lest we lose that option." Rafe looked at him with a confused expression, as if surprised that the Minister actually properly prepared Harry for the job.

"Well, then." Lupin said idly, nodding with finality. "I suggest the attacking team goes eastwards from here, and makes their way closer to the enemy hideout, keeping out of sight. Severus and Regulus can go around the place via the north – the hills should cover your movements fairly well, and they will also muffle the sound of a struggle, should you get involved in one with a sentry."

"We're not amateurs," Harry muttered, feeling decidedly out of his depth anyway, considering he had only had a crash course in ass kicking from Moody and the like, not much else. Still, he was capable of beating Auror recruits, which should stand for something – he had some practical experience in this panicked sort of shoot-first-ask-questions-later stuff. Silently he went over his spell choices once more with some worry, as he'd been unable to actually try out some of them on live targets yet. They'd probably work – but that was a risky business when up against actual dark wizards.

"The signal will be a Patronus message," Lupin finally decided, nodding at Snape with a knowing look and a quick hand signal. "No words, just the momentary appearance of its shape. I'll keep it tiny so it won't attract too much attention, though I'd stay out of sight anyway. "

'Wish we had two-way mirrors,' Harry thought, remembering that he'd gifted Malfoy with one, not that long ago – the Slytherin had yet to actually use it to contact him, but he was glad to know that should it become necessary, the boy could. Malfoy was a school rival, but that seemed so very inconsequential now.

"Black, follow." Snape muttered curtly, moving off towards the north as the rest gave a quick wave and disappeared into the underbrush eastwards past the collapsed church, casting disillusionment charms on themselves as they went. Harry sighed as he quickly rushed after the Potions Master, who was looking decidedly glum and angry. Like the others he cast the disillusionment charm as Snape did, though Harry was somewhat confused when all it did was give the man a slightly fuzzy edge – hardly worth the spell power. Snape suddenly stopped, turning and grabbing Harry's robe. "Listen, Black."

Harry slapped away Snape's hand, raising an eyebrow at Snape's white-hot glare. "You're not one to get physical, Severus. Out with it."

Snape looked at him with loathing plainly visible, turning his wand in his hand with a twitch. "I know we are required to work together, but I won't take the constant mockery, nor your seeming insistence to address me. We were never friends, we will never be friends, and I'd rather you don't act so obliviously to our history. _I do not forgive treachery_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry muttered in response, scowling. "You're being a paranoid little prince, aren't you?"

Snape blanched, putting his wand on Harry's throat in an instant. "Listen, Black – you know as well as I do that the last time we saw each other, _you_ _tried to_ _kill me_. You may act as if it was nothing, but I know what kind of person you are – people don't change. You were and are a _traitor_."

"You'd be surprised how much people can change," Harry muttered, worried at the intense hatred that Snape displayed. There had been nothing about any attempted murder in Regulus' files – indeed, the Black heir really didn't seem the type for wanton killing at all. The most obvious possibility was that this event happened while in the service of Voldemort – Regulus had lashed out at Snape for some reason, possibly because he suspected the latter's status as a spy; that would make the most sense. Even if not a killer by nature, Death Eaters would do many things for their Lord.

"You know things were different, then." Harry said carefully after a while, looking sadly at Snape; he didn't have to act much, as he could see by the trembling that whatever happened in the past had affected Snape quite a bit, and had been roughly brought back to the forefront of his mind due to his alter ego's reappearance. He felt genuine guilt over dredging up old problems, merely for the sake of a role. It was a little too much like stealing a life. "Loyalties were … questionable. You know this."

"_Loyalties_." Snape spat, turning around. "You were never loyal to anyone but yourself."

"You think so little of me, Severus, when you know that if I truly intended to kill you, you would have died." He cocked his head to the side, smiling slightly. "I was loyal to the house of Slytherin." Harry answered, remembering clearly the words of the young portrait of Regulus that he'd spoken to. This would be the ideal time… "Do you remember Taggart's dog, Severus?"

Snape stiffened, his eyes resolutely turned away as he walked off down the path, quickly followed by the younger wizard as the two turned east after a while, evading the target by a wide margin and arriving at their intended destination "I remember the dog." Snape finally said, subdued, after a solid fifteen minutes of silence.

"It was incredibly idiotic, on all our parts," Harry said morosely, forcing himself to ignore the stirrings of his conscience, not to mention his feelings for his godfather. "Little Sirius, for intentionally bringing it to the attention of the higher-class Slytherins – the git should've realized what would happen – me, for killing the thing, when it was a ridiculous thing to do. You, for running to Albus bloody Dumbledore." Harry winced slightly, though he thought he managed to hide it from Snape - the man wasn't paying particularly much attention in any case.

Snape scowled in response, but didn't disagree; it seemed he'd already realized where Harry was going with this, and that he couldn't stop him from speaking out. Finally, he nodded, grimacing. "I don't apologize for it. It was the only choice that seemed right to me."

Harry smiled thinly, thinking back to the story that portrait Regulus had recounted – another 'joke' gone wrong, except this time it wasn't Marauders but Slytherins that were responsible. The Taggarts, a pair of half-blood Slytherins generally despised by their house for their blood-status had smuggled a small dog into the castle, when they first joined the school. The teachers pretended not to notice, willing to cut the two some slack, given the amount of trouble they got in anyway due to their membership of that house. After repeated attempts to get at the two via their pet by pureblood bigots, they'd asked _Gryffindors_ to protect the little creature, thinking they'd at least be honourable. Stupidly enough, they'd gone to the Marauders, the most visible opponents to those very purebloods.

Things had gone bad – although it appeared from portrait Regulus' story that his father and Lupin had been amiable about the whole thing and were not the type to blame first-year Slytherins for all the ills in the world, Sirius had been stupid, and ratted out the two while taunting Regulus, as he was prone to do. The dog, unfortunately, had been taken and reappeared, quite definitely deceased, at breakfast the following morning.

The reactions of some of his peers – both good and bad – had convinced Regulus that his actions had been in the right, as he'd gained some notoriety among the kind of people Voldemort attracted to himself. It had taken a year or two after that for Regulus to realize that they had been beyond the pale, and he'd looked up the Taggarts, both of whom had left Hogwarts in their second year. It turned out, years later, that they were some of the earliest victims of the Second War, though the boy had died before that became known.

Harry felt that Snape's part in what happened was perhaps the most tragic, and might have led to Regulus joining the Death Eaters – the portrait didn't know that far into the boy's life, unfortunately, so the most he could build from was Snape's reactions; one of the few times he'd actually seen the man's ironclad façade slip. What he did know was that Snape had elected to tell Dumbledore about the events with the Taggarts' dog, and had gotten Regulus a large number of punishments, as well as the teacher's attention. Whatever the details, it had been sufficiently impressive to the portrait -and by extension younger- Regulus that it'd been the one story he'd consistently keep identical without exaggeration, and with a haunted look in his eyes.

Harry wondered if any of this had contributed to Sirius' brother's stint as a follower of Voldemort, or if it had always been inevitable at the time, spurred on by his compatriots, ultimately leading to his demise. Regardless, the events had clearly shaped a loathing between Snape and Black, which had now been dredged back up, despite one of the two being a mere actor.

"Severus," Harry said, deciding that a little could go a long way here. "For your part in the events… I don't blame you." Snape stared suspiciously over his shoulder. "Not anymore. I made my own mistakes. Stupid mistakes."

"Keep your platitudes to yourself, Black." Snape scoffed, his wand still clenched in his fist. "You had your chance, years ago. I have not forgetten your attempt on my life."

"I was hardly the same person," Harry answered. "I've been working my way out of the state of mind I had back then for more than a decade – give me a little credit."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Snape gestured eastwards towards the hillside. "If we go across these, we should arrive northwest of the dragons' position, and the abductees should be nearby."

Harry nodded, scaling the hill without difficulty, followed quickly by his companion who was breathing decidedly harder when reaching the top. Harry supposed his age and fitness helped, or perhaps Snape had simply been inhaling too many toxic potion fumes; he had the brief suspicion that the man simply didn't have a habit of leaving the dungeons at all. Harry frowned at what he saw as he looked out over the hills - clearly visible to the east was what appeared to be a fenced off village full of tents; white signs were attached to the fences which were topped with barbed wire and several large hangars were visible further in.

"It's a Muggle military installation," Snape observed, frowning. "Likely not in use – all the rust would suggest as much. Very curious that the Dark Lord would elect to use such a location."

"It's merely a place for transport, isn't it?" Harry wondered, glancing at the older man. "Are we going to run into any Muggle weaponry? That stuff can kill us as well as spells could…" Harry felt dumb for asking, but he knew full well that Regulus was a pureblood and the Ministry would not likely go into this kind of thing either. He was somewhat surprised that Snape knew, actually.

"It's small, it's probably not equipped with anything much, and I wouldn't expect the Dark Lord to care for Muggle technology, much less the kind of people he's got working for him, these days." Snape shrugged, pulling up his cowl and covering his face. "Those hangars will allow them to hide their numbers easily, though."

"Let's keep it silent," Harry suggested, frowning again at the extremely poor excuse for a disillusionment charm that Snape was using. "Get a proper spell up to hide you, for one. This one wouldn't hide you on a black background."

"What are you blathering about, Black?" He looked down at his arm and squinted. "I can barely see myself, let alone you – I have to get within a foot before I can even make out your face." He raised an eyebrow, curious. "Looking through invisibility charms is quite a skill for someone at poor at wandless magic as yourself. I recall your frustrated attempts at that levitation …"

Harry grumbled, his mind racing. Seeing through invisibility was a skill Dumbledore had – he recalled himself with his cloak, sitting at the foot of the Mirror of Erised as it showed him his parents. The man had treated seeing through the cloak as if it was nothing, though he really doubted it. Now he was doing it himself – without any spells, too. Harry suspected that if there were actual spells to do this, he'd probably have learned them by now from the Unspeakables or in Hogwarts; a heat-seeking charm was the closest he'd heard of.

Blinking, he recalled that Moody's disillusionment spell had also been awful – back at the beginning of summer. He'd commented on it, he thought – that it was fine. Had he been able to see through these spells for that long and not noticed?

"Well, if you can see through these spells – keep a look-out for sentries," Snape said grudgingly, looking somewhat – impressed? Harry couldn't quite keep the shock off his face, though thankfully Snape was far enough away that he'd probably not notice it, anyway. With a quick flourish of his wand he cast soundproofing charms on both his and Snape's shoes – it wouldn't do to be caught by something so simplistic.

"Here we go, then."

* * *

"This is so completely insane," Remus muttered as he pulled Rafe forward by his robe, sending him an annoyed glare. "Act like an Unspeakable or something, Phelan."

Rafe rolled his eyes, glancing behind him at the three others that followed. "Can't help it, it's been too long since I've got in a good bit of trouble with dark wizards – it gets addicting, you know? Not to mention we can get a bit of badass werewolf acrobatics going!" He flipped casually on his hands and back, effortlessly throwing his own weight around. "Bastards won't know what hit 'em."

"Rafe." Remus sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "It's possible _he_ is here. Focus."

Rafe blinked, gulping. "You're not talking about snake face, are you? You're talking about _Fenrir_. I thought he was out somewhere in central Europe?"

"Where do you think we are?" Remus asked dryly, quickly dragging Rafe along to the next hill, everyone else following silent as the night, covered under more silencing charms than Remus cared to count. "Does Romania not count on your map?"

Rafe chuckled nervously with an embarrassed grin. "Never been that good in geography, to be honest – astronomy's more my thing if any of them sciences are, by necessity. Well, I do plenty of other stuff too, of course. Now blowing things up - there's my talent!"

"Silent, now." Remus said, as he cast a super sensory charm on his already sensitive ears. His ears twitched as he closed his eyes to concentrate, listening for any sounds that might break through the charms that had been set up around the entire area up ahead. He nodded, quickly cancelling it, turning to Hestia and the twins. "I can hear at least four people – there's silencing charms on the big buildings, but none outside, where they're walking. The dragons are bound to be inside those buildings – leftovers from the Muggle military, if I'm not mistaken."

"Definitely," Rafe confirmed, looking seriously across the hillside – a thin red line was visible a few feet away – some kind of tripwire ward that was actually strong enough to be visible, which would probably alert every Death Eater in the entire base to their location. Great.

"Are we just going to trip that?" Hestia wondered, looking at it in interest. Remus blanched, turning to her in shock.

"Haven't you taken a proper look at that?" She did, then - the line was smoldering slightly, a fiery hue reminiscent of a hearth fire, though much more concentrated. It also - seemed to shiver with cropped up power, ready to lash out. "That thing's got more than enough power to burn us all to ash – it's a killing ward. Unless you're wearing an actual Dark Mark, I doubt you're going through that at all."

"How'd they get the dragons in or out if that's the case?" Hestia observed hesitantly. "Not to mention the abductees…"

"Good point." Remus conceded. "It's bound to be related to the Dark Mark, though – the wards Dumbledore took down during the summer were visible like this too, and they all worked that way as well. In fact, Moody had to lop one guy's arm off just to-" He stopped, eyes widening. "Of course! Moody used one of their arms to pass through such a ward – you don't actually have to have one, you just need to be touching someone who does!"

"Well, that's just great," George muttered. "Where's Snape when you need him? There's a sentence I never thought I'd say…"

"Everything that gets passed through these gets destroyed?" Fred asked, interested, reaching into his pockets and sorting through what seemed to be quite a few different types of lint, a rubber chicken, and a most impressive collection of multicoloured sweets. "Are you sure?"

"People, at least, get destroyed," Remus said uneasily. "Unless you have a way to turn us into inanimate objects without hurting us, we're not getting through – and you're no Professor McGonagall, Mr. Weasley."

"I might have something, though," Fred answered with certainty, smiling broadly as he fished a pair of large round rubber hoops out of his pocket, that definitely shouldn't have fit in there. "These were a discarded prototype for the shop – the magic was far too unstable for actual travel. Range far too short for most wards, even – Except this is just a line."

"We developed it after our original ideas regarding the Age-Line failed, back when the Triwizard Tournament was just beginning." George supplied, realizing what his brother's idea was and a wicked smile appearing on his face as well. "Transportation Circles – need a snappier name, I think – inanimate objects that allow you to move from one to the other without crossing the distance in between."

Fred held one up – the circle was somewhat floppy, looking decidedly like a big round piece of rubbery tubing, springing slightly in his grip. George grabbed the other, holding it very close to the first, carefully holding it in place near the other, mere inches apart.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" Remus asked, blinking.

Hestia gasped as Fred stuck his arm through – Remus saw nothing, but like the dark-haired woman, Rafe seemed perplexed by the view that he was getting. He quickly made his way over, suddenly realizing what they saw – Fred's arm completely vanished in one of the hoops and appeared out the other – but the gap between the two was completely empty, no arm in sight, and the back of the circles looked a dull black.

"That's… incredible!" Rafe stammered. "That's space-time manipulation with magic! You _have_ to let me study that, it's supposed to be impossible to transfer matter or energy without-"

"Later." Remus said, clapping a hand over the fellow werewolf's mouth as he nodded at the twins. "We can use those to pass through the wards?"

"If we levitate them close together and then freeze them, they should hold for a minute or two," Fred confirmed. "Passing all of us through them though – I doubt they'll be in any shape after we're done, as the things do run out of magic – I only have one other pair. I think we'll have to count on getting that ward down or having Snape and Black escort us back out."

"Set it up," Remus said confidently. "We can take out as many as we can before they are on to us, and divert attention away from the hangars – we'll have to trust Snape and Black to hold up their side of the plan."

"This is going to be such a mess," Hestia muttered, wiping her long black hair out of her eyes and readying her wand for combat – both the Weasley twins had several small red spheres in their hand, wand in the other, each imprinted with a sleepy face and the letters 'ZZZ by WWW' – the very best in aerosolized sleeping potion, courtesy of Muggle technology and a deft spot of magic. Rafe looked like he was about to go to a party, eyes wild and gleeful as he twirled his wand manically and barely suppressing what would probably have been a mad cackle.

"This is going to be SUCH a mess. Love it!"

* * *

Harry and Snape had made their way very close to the hangars, close enough to see two wizards patrolling the grounds, clad in dark robes and wearing their Death Eater masks. Before Harry ran a clearly visible red ward line, sizzling slightly with power – a nastily effective ward that Harry had read all about on one of his first days into researching Death Eater tactics, and which was allegedly capable of killing a man before he realized he'd tripped the thing.

"We wait for the signal, then go through," Snape stated; Harry agreed, making sure to keep close to Snape. He was quite sure his own faux-Dark Mark wouldn't let him pass the very real ward, and he couldn't make it obvious that he was tagging along. Grabbing his robe should be sufficient, as the line was supposed to work based on proximity.

"There's a disillusioned sentry heading our way," Harry hissed as he noted a man walking quite confidently along the edge of the wards, idly twirling his wand in his hand as he hummed something under his breath. The man's mask was grey and somewhat in disrepair, suggesting he was at the very least a veteran of the last war.

"He won't see," Snape whispered, "Let him pass."

'Knowing my luck…' Harry thought, shaking his head as he kept his head down, barely ten feet from the man now, though his invisibility charms were up to par as the Death Eater's eyes passed over their area without halting a moment. Finally, he turned away, back to the camp.

A flash of light erupted in front of Snape and he barely managed to suppress a curse as it vanished – the patronus had been too brief to make out a shape, but it had been enough – unfortunately, not just for them.

"What was that?" The Death Eater that had been about to leave said aloud as he doubled back, his wand ready in his hand as he carefully walked to the ward line. He squinted as he looked over the bushes just outside the ward line. This was very bad – if Harry and Snape were caught now, both of them would doubtlessly be killed, as they had no way to counter all of the Death Eaters at once. They had to take out the Death Eaters way of communication, and get to shelter. Harry tapped Snape on the shoulder and scooted uncomfortably close.

"When I hit – run. They'll converge on this location, but we won't be here." Harry didn't wait for a response, getting himself upright, his wand flying through a series of motions as quickly as he could, just as the burly Death Eater noticed the ripple effect in the air that betrayed Harry's presence and his hand snatched out to grab his marked arm.

Snape was quicker – he'd shot upright before Harry could do a thing, a vicious-looking cutting curse ripping through the enemy wizard's arm like a knife through butter, lobbing it straight off with a great spray of blood and a sickening wet sound. The man was hit with a silencing charm before he could cry out, though he still tried to send a spell off with his other arm, still holding his wand – Snape had destroyed the man's Dark Mark first, and he wouldn't be in time to –

Harry acted, before he'd really thought it through. Without even thinking of a spell he yanked the man forward – a wandless summoning charm. It wasn't very strong and he hadn't focused where he was going at all, but the man stumbled and pitched forward, spell interrupted – and tripped straight through the ward line.

Unfortunately for all of them,_ he'd just lost his Dark Mark._

The clamour that erupted was incredible – it sounded like dozens of claxons went off at once, covering the entire base in screeching howls. Harry didn't realize he'd stopped moving entirely until Snape forcefully dragged him along by the arm across the ward, quickly sprinting towards the Muggle military hangars and slipping behind the nearest one, before anyone could notice the tripped alarm. More alarms were going off elsewhere on the base – Remus' group, providing their distraction given that it was rather immediately necessary. Harry collected himself, trying to ignore the fact that – that he'd just killed someone. By accident, admittedly – on the spur of the moment, without meaning to – but he'd done it. He almost wanted to giggle to himself – finally the Daily Prophet was right about something!

"Black, focus." Snape barked, though his face was nearly a whisper. "They're distracted – two alarms are going off at different locations and I do not believe anyone noticed our approach. Finding Weasley and the Dragon Keepers comes first, we can discuss your little stunt back there later." He motioned for Harry to follow. "Make sure they don't strike me in the back – I cannot risk being taken, for obvious reasons."

Harry nodded, distractedly feeling his breast pocket to confirm that he was still carrying Scrimgeour's collection of hair samples, just in case he'd need them, as well as two little bottles of Polyjuice Potion that Snape had given him – he felt decidedly vulnerable right now, given that the illusions he cast on himself would come apart fairly easily under the right kind of spells. Thankfully Scrimgeour had access to something Harry had never expected, and he had the suspicion the man hadn't given it along for fun. An emergency solution.

"_Sectumsempra_!" Snape blasted another one of those incredibly nasty cutting curses, one that he'd never even heard of, just missing a sentry that had dumbly decided to stand in the open and try to determine where the enemy was. Harry kept a close eye on Snape as he himself sent a more generic cutting curse in the same direction, the thin reddish blade of magic passing overhead harmlessly.

"You can do better than that," Snape commented, snarling another curse, a little louder than Harry thought comfortable. It was about time he started pulling his own weight, it seemed – no time to think about what had happened.

"_Deprimo_!"

The overpowered gravity charm managed to floor the fleeing wizard that was trying to head back to the hangar from which three Death Eaters were just appearing, each wearing rather singed clothes – the dragons were definitely further back in this base, then. The charm did a little more than merely stun him – the Death Eater crashed through his leg in an instant, the enormous increase in perceived gravity convincing him his leg couldn't support him and awkwardly twisting it beneath him as he fell with his full weight on it. Harry winced at the man's agonized cry of pain.

"That's more like it," Snape noted gleefully, his eyes beaming with a light Harry had never seen in them before, but which he should've expected – Snape had long been said to want the Defence against the Dark Arts teaching position and he now realized why. Just like he was a master at brewing Potions, this man revelled in duelling, in Wizarding battle.

Slipping into the first hangar was easy – it had many doors, and a simple _Alohomora_ was sufficient to open them, as they hadn't been charmed closed – of course, that could be because this first one was entirely empty, a vast open hall with a few half-rusted airplanes parked haphazardly at one end, looking decidedly rusted and decrepit. Not a single Death Eater was inside, but that wouldn't be the case much longer, as it was a rather obvious place to hide. Before the two had managed to jog halfway across, the door on the other side opened and Snape cursed – out here in the open, the distortion caused by disillusionment charms would be more obvious, and clearly they'd already been spotted before he even cursed as two cutting curses flashed by in an instant.

"_Conturbo_!" Harry yelled out, side-stepping a blue-green bolt that splashed into the ground behind him to no visible effect. His jinx briefly dazed one of the Death Eaters, as the man reached for his head and awkwardly cast a shield charm, shaking off the sudden attack that Harry had hit him with. Snape slashes ahead with '_Sectumsempra_' again – it was as powerful and incredibly violent as ever, tearing into the enemy's shields, though they held the dark spell back. Harry concentrated on his own target, narrowing his eyes as he considered his options.

A flame-charm crossed by his leg as Harry quickly darted sideways, his wand jutting forward quickly for a spell he'd used to good effect before. "_Fidus Attingo!" _The True Strike Charm was traditionally considered a bit of a joke - it was fairly weak and it would only follow an enemy for a brief while - but overpowered, it could do some damage. The Death Eater cried out as he was pulled backwards off his feet, crashing to the floor in an undignified heap, though Harry didn't relent from casting, knowing that any wounds were superficial. "_Expulso_!"

Snape had managed to subdue his enemy, hitting him in the face with a stunning charm that wasn't properly defended against. Harry's own enemy crawled up into a ball with a pained grimace, bleeding from numerous superficial wounds. He looked around, panicked, as he realized the odds were stacked against him. Before he could get to his feet, he toppled to the floor wrapped in tight ropes, courtesy of Harry.

"Only two?" Harry asked cautiously as silence descended, looking suspiciously at the nearest, who was unconscious. "Either Remus and the others are doing a hell of a job, or something's wrong."

Snape grunted, dragging the Death Eater to the side of the hall and putting disillusionment charms on the unconscious bodies. He looked uncertainly at them. Harry shared his uncertainty – they couldn't very well let them get back to Voldemort, but could hardly kill them in cold blood.

"Put them under a stasis charm," Harry finally concluded. "That should keep them safe for a week or so – more than long enough for some Aurors to pick them up."

"Stasis charms?"

Harry blinked, realizing that this kind of magic he was learning from the Unspeakables wasn't in general use – especially not given that it was usually only used within the Department itself. Still – this was the perfect opportunity. Normally used to store animals for extended periods of time in a sort of time-freeze, stasis spells were occasionally used for prisoners, as a relatively short exposure didn't harm them. Croaker had been a particular fan, noting that the magic in question, if properly perfected, could actually serve as a sort of permanent prison – thankfully, nobody had figured that use it like that yet, as there was something horrifying about being able to literally lose years in the blink of an eye.

"I'd rather you turn around," Harry said uneasily, muttering the only such charm he knew under his breath – he'd used it to transport several brains from the Thought Room to another, as they very much loathed being moved, and the charm would make them unable to feel it. The two dark wizard's bodies stiffened in their poses – Harry carefully levitated them under one of the planes, certain that nobody would trip over and find them there. Under the charm, not even heat should be detectable – though he supposed Voldemort would detect them right away, were he to come here.

"Done?"

Harry nodded, following Snape across the hangar to the door that the two Death Eaters had used, frowning at the blood that he noticed on Snape's sleeve. "Did any of them get you?"

"Just a graze," Snape brushed off, his eyes focused on the next hangar, making sure his cowl was on tight. Fighting could be heard in the distance – Rafe's voice was unmistakable, shouting curses at the top of his lungs, though the impressively large plumes of flame bursting across the sky suggested that they were more than mere show. No Death Eaters were between the hangars, all seemingly tied up at the battle.

"We need to get across and into the next hangar," Harry said with certainty, wiping the hair out of his face with a frown. "I don't trust this calm."

"A trap," Snape deduced. "They do not care if we come through here – they must have set up a place to wait us out, to catch us unawares. It suggests they knew we were coming."

Harry thought back to Scrimgeour with a shiver – that man had information on the future, knowing the missions he was going on before he'd even done them and reading mission reports that weren't written yet. It seemed to become an uncomfortable truth that everyone around him knew more about what would be happening than he did.

"How strong is your blasting curse?" Harry asked distractedly, focusing his mind on the _Confringo_ spell he'd fired off at the Ministry, and gauging its power – it had taken quite a bit out of him, but it'd been able to rip down part of a magically enhanced wall, so a normal Muggle construction shouldn't stand a chance, even if it was metal.

"…Why?"

Harry shrugged, stalking forward without a word as Snape was forced to keep up, glaring venomously at 'Regulus' who merely smirked. A sufficiently powerful blasting curse would be able to smash and pulverize most any defence the Death Eaters set up – and two would ruin their day. It'd be a great parting shot – if they could find the abductees, first.

* * *

Charlie Weasley was very uncomfortable – bound by his wrists and feet to a pole was embarrassing enough, but he was hanging horizontally down from it, dangerously close to a currently peacefully slumbering but most definitely horribly dangerous Norwegian Ridgeback. Though he liked dragons rather much, hanging in the gaseous fumes that escaped with every exhale was a gruelling experience that he'd rather not have gone through.

Along with himself three others were tied to similar poles, each divested of their wand and other magical items, clothed merely in their robes; they'd been here for, what, days now? The dragons had arrived before they did – unconscious as they were, nobody knew how they'd arrived there, and even being able to talk to each other had done little, given that all of them were very much tied up. Margaret Agrippa, George Aubrey and Dobrynya Nikitich were each bound before a dragon; Dob had been the only one that'd not woken up once since the beginning of this hellish time, and Charlie almost envied him.

He'd been hearing odd noises for a few minutes now – high-pitched whines, low groans, something that reminded him rather of electricity, like the zaps his father got whenever he was playing around with some Muggle equipment he shouldn't be. He could swear he heard human voices, though he was uncertain, it was too far away.

"Margaret?"

"Eh?"

"Do you hear that? Are they fighting?" Charlie frowned, straining his ears. "You don't suppose…?"

"Took them bloody long enough," George said, sighing deeply. "The damn cavalry has arrived, that's what – I bet someone's here to kick some Death Muncher behind!" He laughed slightly, though it changed into a cough as he breathed in Lindy's toxic fumes – the dragon was quite wounded and barely moved even in her artificially induced sleep, but she was as tied up as any of the others here – ready to be shipped off to Merlin-knows-where.

"The Romanians, you think?"

"'Course not," Margaret answered dismissively. "They wouldn't send an Auror if someone set the Romanian Minister for Magic on fire. Nah, this must be Brits."

"Risking their lives to save ours?" George whistled appreciatively. "What kind of force do you reckon they brought? I mean, if they unleash even one of these beasties, they're going to have a bad time, even with a hundred people…"

Charlie shrugged, trying to focus on the distant battles but uncertain about what he heard. He looks around himself with concern – he and the others were locked in one of the nastiest-looking places in the entire complex, as they'd been shoved from one to the other room, some huge and full of Muggle contraptions, others small and cramped and stinking vaguely of moldy paper. Now, he was among giants – besides the dragons, there were these shapes, above, that George feared so much –large, bulbous figures, suspended from the roof in tall racks, many of which had been stripped away by the Death Eaters to house the dragons, secure behind thick metal doors. They'd left behind many of the cylinder-shaped objects as well that were stacked to great heights.

George had known what they were, even if the pureblood Death Eaters hadn't. He'd known and nearly fainted when he realized just how much was stacked around them, how much destructive potential, leftover from some Muggle war of old that never started – or ended in time.

The Death Eaters had locked them up along with several fire-breathing dragons in the middle of a forgotten munitions depot.

* * *

Remus ducked under another curse, snarling in response as he sprang forward, his enhanced physical strength allowing him to dodge out of the way of the blistering curse easily – for a brief moment, he understood what Rafe saw in this, fighting with a werewolf's power, before he snapped off a stunner at one of the Death Eaters and sent her crumpling to the floor. They'd only just crossed the barrier, safely inside the lethal ward ring, when an alarm had started blaring on the other edge of the camp – where Snape and 'Regulus' were supposed to enter.

Without a second thought Remus had revealed himself to the nearest Death Eater with a heartfelt punch to the face – the dark wizard had immediately set off the alarms, diverting attention away from the distant one in favour of his own position, which was close to the entrance and as such right in everyone's vision.

Twelve Death Eaters had come and attacked simultaneously – had he been alone, Remus would've been screwed. Thankfully, Fred and George had joined in immediately and with fervour, throwing large numbers of red spheres at the enemy that exploded on impact, spreading a vapour around in great billowing clouds of red that obscured sight and had secondary side-effects; beyond turning one's hair pink, several Death Eaters were on the ground, out like a light – the sleeping potion taking effect too quickly to be counteracted.

Hestia Jones stayed back, casting shield charms on everyone whenever they were running low, as her stunner was too weak to do any damage. The real surprise, for everyone, was Rafe. Joking and excited one moment, the man had done a complete turn-around and whipped out one of the most destructive magical attacks any of them had ever seen – a vast cone of fire, blasting forward at incredible speed and setting two of the Death Eaters on fire, while the others were knocked on their behinds by the pressure of the impact. The blast wave had been magnificent and Rafe had stood stoically at the heart of it as he waited for the dust to settle and the cries to die down.

It didn't take long to become clear what Rafe's specialty was. After the flaming assault had left the enemy shocked and terrified, he'd followed it up with an attack that was perhaps even more frightening; a bolt of lightning blasted from his wand, launching its way towards the enemy and sending several to the floor with convulsions, their limbs not responding as they tried to recuperate from an attack that didn't even hit them – they'd just caught the edges of the blast that had rocketed across the soil. Where it hit, it left scorch marks, glassy residue leaking down from the edges.

"Come on, Remus." Rafe said calmly as said person had briefly stopped in his attacks to gape. Rafe was tinkering absentmindedly with a bracelet on his arm as he turned and smiled slightly. "I can't keep this up forever."

Remus had to admit – he was more than impressed. The kind of magic Rafe was throwing around he'd only seen one person cast before – Albus Dumbledore. Granted, the old man could probably do even more incredible stuff in his chosen field of Transfiguration, as he'd long earned Mastery in that – but Rafe's sheer destructive power was awe-inspiring to behold, and he doubted if there were many that could match it. He wondered briefly if this was the kind of power that came with being an Unspeakable, given that this was not normal Wizarding magic. Before he could think on it further a cutting curse zoomed by his face and he ducked – he narrowly avoided adding yet another scar to his collection.

Fred and George finally ran out of sleeping spheres, electing to go for the next attraction – portable swamps popped up in several locations, forcing Death Eaters to avoid them lest they become stuck in the loamy soil – Rafe, unlike the Order members, was pulling no punches and they knew it. It'd been clear uncomfortably quickly that they man paid no attention to whether or not his target was killed, merely that they were enemies

It was disturbing, Remus concluded – the once-friendly Rafe was still the same in daily life – but out here, he was a veritable monster – a killing machine. A chill made its way to his heart as he thought about the fact that these were the kind of people Harry now worked with. He really didn't seem out of place in this military installation, he thought distractedly.

"The last of the twelve Death Eaters fell, twitching, to one of the Weasley Twins' inventions as it wrapped itself around the man forcefully. Rafe was fine – he looked winded, but nothing more. Remus had barely contributed, he realized – he'd been so shocked by the display that his spells had petered out halfway through. Hestia was busily conjuring bandages for the Weasleys who had both managed to get several burns from handling volatile items, though none from spells.

Not one of the Death Eaters had actually managed to get a hit in. How…?

"This isn't right," Rafe muttered. "Those were… newbies, I think. Why would they…?"

A clapping sound interrupted him – it continued steadily, as a chuckling man appeared from the shadows, his deranged smile screaming danger. His eyes were wild and his mane dishevelled and rough, but Rafe nor Remus had any problem identifying him.

"What do you want, Greyback?" the former asked, growling slightly. "Come to die?"

"Little Phelan," Fenrir Greyback answered, smirking widely as he spread his arms – several Death Eaters lined up beside him, all decidedly more experienced than the previous ones if their straight-backed formation was anything to go by. "I know all about your penchant for exaggeration – I figured I'd let you work out your rage a bit, before I killed you."

"I'm not done yet," Rafe responded coldly, his eyes narrow. "You still deserve death – for what you did to me, for what you did to Remus."

"You use my gift, hypocrite." The werewolf Death Eater stretched. "You use the gift of Lycaon to give yourself an edge – you enjoy it. It may have been involuntary in the beginning, but at least Remus can lay claim to stick with that. You…" He shook his head disgustedly. "There are so many who embrace this great boon..."

Fred, George and Hestia looked on hesitantly as the three werewolves faced off, looking decidedly more feral than strictly reasonable without a full moon. Rafe twisted his bracelet around – it glowed softly, obviously magical in nature; a weapon? Remus had his wand at the ready, looking in indecision between the large group of wizards that were now facing off with them and Rafe – they former were all masked and cowled so they could be anyone, but Fenrir's presence was telling. These were werewolves. Voldemort's werewolves.

"_Argentum Sagittis_!"

A rain of silver fell from the sky.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Took a while, but Torikaeru got me distracted and as a consequence this one kept being shoved back – the second half of this little battle of the second war will continue next time.

P.S. I'm somewhat annoyed when reviews are made (particularly rude/negative ones) that are unsigned - it seems somewhat cowardly to make sure you can't actually be answered for such a review. This has happened a few times now - they all sounds very similar so I wouldn't be surprised if it's the same person multiple times, I suppose. I could remove them, but I'll leave other people to decide whether or not they're right. -shrug-

Stay tuned for more in _Mission Romania - Attrition_


	14. Romania : Attrition

**Chapter 14 : Attrition**

_You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake._ - Jeanette Rankin

* * *

"_Argentum Sagittis!"_

A rain of silver fell from the sky.

Greyback snarled as he conjured a gleaming golden above himself, reverberating with a gong-like sound as shards of metal clashed into it and splintered to pieces. Rafe lowered his wand calmly, his eyes blazing. "Don't count me out yet, Rufus."

Three werewolves hadn't been quick enough – they tore at shards of metal that sizzled and sputtered were they hit, the lethal metal searing a wound into their skin that would not heal properly – One had lost his wand, grasping fitfully with his other hand as his hand contorted due to the pain. Silver could do a _lot_ of damage to werewolves. Greyback glanced aside to take in the new wounds. "You would try and kill us? Fratricide?"

"You deserve no less," Rafe answered in a low voice, staring at the other werewolves one by one, taking in their expressions; several were fidgeting or looking away, especially the ones that'd just been hit; others were grinning widely, their wands ready. This wouldn't be pretty. "I don't care whether you're a werewolf or not. I care that you ally yourself with a despicable piece of crap."

Greyback raised his hand as one of his werewolf followers stepped forwards threateningly, his hackles up. "So very – uncouth. Yet they call _me_ the savage one!"

Remus wasn't usually an aggressive man – indeed, he'd generally elect violence as a last resort, intentionally distancing himself from what he knew his more vicious half would do; his moon-touched self. Now, however, he stood opposite Fenrir Greyback, follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort and the creature that had infected him; bit him as a mere child, cursed him to share his monstrous existence as someone less than human. His wand raised seemingly on its own, his lips bared as he growled. "_Sphaera Ignis_!"

Greyback's shield held, but only just – a sphere of white-hot fire crashed into it forcefully, breaking into smaller spheres that rained down around him, singing the grass and staring small fires. Greyback threw himself aside as Remus readied a second attack, stalking forward with an indescribable look of fury on his face, his eyes seemingly burning like hot coals. Immediately ten stunners headed his way – ten Death Eaters sought cover, though there were precious few places to find here, out in the open. A third explosive spell crashed between them, unhindered now by the shield spell. "Come on, coward!"

Greyback snarled, gesturing to his followers. "Come on, you lot - meat's on the menu." His wand was trained on Remus who was panting after several powerful spells in quick succession. "_Crucio_."

Sidestepping the curse was easy, Remus found – his quick reflexes came in handy as he sent a quick stunner back, forcing Greyback to dodge as well – Rafe was behind him, an incredibly powerful shield – almost visible – suddenly extending around the two of them. Twisting a bracelet on his arm, Rafe brought up his wand again, nodding to Remus.

* * *

"They're incredible," George whispered to his brother as the two took cover behind one of several low walls that marked the end of the military base. "I never figured him to be, y'know…"

"He was Professor for Defence against the Dark Arts for a while," Fred pointed out. "Of course he had to know a bit of defensive magic – I just never figured he'd go all mad like that… Did you see the look in his eyes? Terrifying!"

Hestia Jones approached cautiously, staying low to the ground and glancing up nervously as fiery spells passed over their cover; although Rafe was keeping them somewhat safe with that preposterously powerful shield of his, a single lucky hit could be disastrous. "That's Fenrir Greyback out there – notorious for biting children and turning them into werewolves," she said. "He's responsible for both of their… conditions, I believe. I've heard Remus mention it before."

Fred cursed, peeking over the wall at the two. "Can we help them out? No matter how powerful that Rafe fellow is – he's gotta run out of juice sometime, right? What if these folks start throwing the Killing Curse around?"

Hestia nodded uncertainly, staring worriedly at the two. "I don't know many combat spells… I wouldn't be of much help out there. You… don't have any more of those explosives, do you?"

"A couple," George said, wincing as an explosion went off with a shuddering crash, mere feet away from them and showering the three with rock chips and dust as a great cloud of smoke billowed upwards. "How do we get near?"

"We'll need to get behind them, or at their side," Fred considered, peeking over the wall again – Rafe and Remus were must closer to the other werewolves now, though he could only see about six of them from this vantage point. They actually seemed to be holding their ground against _eleven_ enemies!

"They know we're out here," George observed, grimacing. "We'll have to leave someone behind, otherwise they'll suspect something."

"I'll stay – after all, I count for two," Fred joked, rubbing his arm tiredly – a stunner had passed over it early on and it still felt rather numb from the experience. "Miss Jones – how good are your illusions? You did hide us back on the road…"

Hestia smirked. "I can get us out of eyesight, I'm sure."

"Good. I'll stay here then and give those two some cover; you two go around those greenish buildings and kick their asses." He twirled his wand in an exaggerated motion, nodding with conviction in response to his brother's worried look. "I'll be fine."

"You'd better be, Fred." George said with a thumbs-up, quickly making his way along the wall towards a collection of tent-like structures that flanked the large plaza before the entrance that was currently a battlefield; Hestia followed him closely, muttering disillusionment spells under her breath as she went, though they would not fool anyone for long if one went out in the open. Fred stared after them for a moment longer, suddenly remembering where he was as another explosion went off nearby, shrapnel flinging itself against his _Protego_ shield charm. "Oh, right."

* * *

Remus admitted to himself that we was severely outclassed; both Rafe and Greyback were throwing around curses that he'd never even heard of before, busier with deflecting each other's assault than taking notice of him. His most powerful curses couldn't hold a candle to Rafe's and they took a lot out of him, so Remus concentrated on taking out the other werewolves that were present, stepping quickly over the unconscious body of a Death Eater that'd been knocked out earlier as his stolen cutting curse flashed out again and encountered a hastily conjured shield that vanished instantly under the strain.

'These fellows really aren't the cream of the crop,' he thought distractedly as he slammed his wand downwards, a cloud of dust bursting upwards and sending several spells far from their target. Although Greyback was certainly a legitimate threat, these others… they were new at this, barely tested in combat if at all.

Remus could only come to one conclusion that made any sense - this was a diversion. That meant very bad things for Snape and Regulus, as they'd sneaked in somewhere on the other side of the base and might be running into whatever trap had been set; perhaps that too had been anticipated. Clearly Voldemort had known a little more about what the Ministry and the Order would do than either had even dared fear.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Remus had but a split second to widen his eyes and flinch away as a green bolt of light slammed into the soil not two feet from him, blasting it upwards as a snarling Greyback cast another; his brief distraction had been enough for three wizards to corner Rafe between them, allowing their leader a free shot at his second target. Not thinking about what might've happened, Remus ducked under the lethal spell and threw out the first curse he could think of in the spur of the moment – and one of the nastiest he knew. "_Sectumsempra_!"

He watched with morbid curiosity as Greyback flinched backwards as a spray of blood erupted, grasping at his side where a long and wide gash had been cut; it bled profusely, spattering the ground with a trail as the man quickly moved away. He had only used that curse once before; it'd been many years since he'd seen it in action at all, in fact. Severus, he had to admit, had a knack for coming with potent spells if he set his mind to it; he hoped for his own safety that the man never found out his old school rival had copied it.

Greyback made his way behind some of his followers, clutching his side – given his lycanthropy he'd be fine, healing in a far shorter time than any normal person would, Remus knew. He was out of the fight until he stopped that bleeding, though – Remus grinned viciously, firing that curse again – he felt only slightly guilty that it probably counted as dark magic.

* * *

"We should go left here. No, right!" George muttered, standing beside one of several oddly shaped buildings – low and green and made of some kind of soft material that imitated plants, though definitely not alive. They were entirely empty and set up in a pattern that he couldn't quite discern, though it did thankfully shield them from enemy eyes. Sounds echoed strangely between the walls, the battle sounding simultaneously close and far away depending on which way you faced.

"Right, then left, I believe." Hestia hesitated, raising her wand and narrowing her eyes. "_Point me."_ It twirled around on her open hand, facing slightly right and ahead of them. "We're looping around quite a bit – I think we actually went the wrong direction at the start there."

"I don't care, let's go!" George urged, his hands searching his pockets for suitable traps. He'd already found several unused gas bombs deep in his pockets, hidden behind the folds; besides them he still had several Portable Swamps and a little other surprise. Palming three of the red spheres he'd used before he followed Hestia's directions, approaching the on-going battle from behind. Greyback was on the side-lines, casting something on himself; three werewolves were on the ground, felled by Rafe in a single blistering blast.

"Crucio!" snarled one of Greyback's men, finally pissed enough to resort of Unforgivables; his spell passed by Rafe and Remus easily, not even coming close; neither of them paying it any mind. They reacted with sudden horror as Fred cried out in agony, collapsing sideways from behind his cover, twitching and trembling on the ground as the torture curse connected with him; he'd been in mid-cast of a particularly nasty hex and it fizzled out.

"Fred!" George shouted, jumping out from behind his cover and reflexively throwing all three of his explosives at the one that'd cast the curse; an explosion of smoke erupted, the man collapsing to the floor with an overdose of sleeping solution in his system, his breath laboured and eyes staring blindly upwards. George froze in his tracks as several pairs of vicious animal-like eyes turned in his direction, their owner's wands aimed at him in an instant.

He probably should've thought that out better.

* * *

"We have to hurry, it sounds like there's a bloody war going on out there," Harry said, glancing deeper into the military base – at the far end was a tall building, entirely metal, having the look of sort of silo with incredibly thick walls. A bunker, perhaps? It was certainly large enough to hold a couple dragons, though he'd figured the large hangars would be used for that.

It was strange, Harry thought – here he was, in another country with the teacher he'd loathed most, actually going around and fighting Death Eaters. He was terribly new at this – and yet Scrimgeour sent him anyway, evidently confident that everything would turn out as it should. He wished that he had the same certainty; his hands trembled slightly and he was glad that Snape hadn't yet mentioned it, intent as he was on getting himself under control.

'I'm doing what I set out to do,' Harry reminded himself, thinking back to summer, when he'd promised himself that he'd take the fight to Voldemort; that he'd make himself stronger, ready to take on that bastard like Dumbledore did. To become the second wizard that Voldemort feared.

Here he was, mere months later, doing exactly that. He was terrified and really out of his depth – but he was fighting nevertheless. With renewed confidence he stepped forward, his strides strong and certain. He was the bloody 'Boy who Lived' – he was going to show these bastards that they couldn't ignore him any longer. A crooked smile made its way to his borrowed face and Snape raised an eyebrow, evidently curious about his sudden boldness, though not intrigued enough to actually ask.

"That's where we are going. I believe," Snape observed as he motioned for Harry to stop. "The Dark Lord most certainly left behind protection, and I cannot afford to be seen." he said, slipping a bottle of Polyjuice Potion from his robe, already prepared. He swallowed it in a single gulp, shuddering briefly before he once more stood perfectly still – his robe covered his face admirably well but Harry noted that the man had suddenly filled out some, no longer emaciated, nor his hands thin and pale. Snape nodded, wand ready once more. "You might consider doing the same – then we can proceed."

Harry briefly contemplated copying Snape's actions, but he was quite aware that though he had numerous samples of hairs with him for use in Polyjuice Potion, Scrimgeour didn't have any of that in mind when he gave that collection to him. There was one particular person's hair that the Minister had included that couldn't possibly be there by coincidence; hidden well among the others, seemingly innocuous. He'd have need of it, Harry was sure – already the sample was ready for use, a yellowish goo left behind in the little bottle that Snape had supplied. This time, he'd play the Minister's little game - Scrimgeour had better have a good explanation for it, though.

"Come." Snape ordered, quickly making his way towards the rusted bunker that towered over the hindmost part of the base, flanked on both sides by steep hills covered in a great many trees, their branches growing through the fencing in numerous places. Sticking to the shadows, he kept his eyes peeled for any motion. Harry followed swiftly, knowing that any disillusionment spells that might be present would be his responsibility to spot – thankfully, there appeared to be none. This was, admittedly, even more disturbing than if there'd been dozens of Death Eaters around every corner, as the silence and calm lulled them into a false sense of security.

Approaching the huge building at last, Harry noticed that the humongous door that was evidently used to enter and leave the structure – the door was easily two feet thick and equipped with huge locks – was ajar, leaving a small opening through which a thin beam of light made its way. Some smoke streamed out along the edges of the door and disappeared into the sky; several openings higher up belched more substantial amounts. "This is definitely where we need to be," he muttered.

A large empty field stretched out between them and that entrance – short grass dominated it as it grew from between cracks in the concrete, small plants making their way up the rusted sides of the nearby buildings that had seen better days. Harry fitfully made sure his cowl was up, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the feeling that he was being watched.

Harry sensed it before even Snape did, it seemed; with a yell he threw himself backwards, a shield up around the two of them before he had properly thought about it. A viciously sharp green light seared by him mere inches away as he gasped and turned to look at whomever attacked – Snape was already crawling back on his feet, blasted off it by Harry's sudden mad dash. A mad dash that had saved him from a Killing Curse.

"Now, let's not be hasty," a Death Eater said as he left the shadows of the bunker, skull-like mask reflecting the light eerily. "Who do we have here, brother mine? Little heroes?"

"The Minister's Finest," the second Death Eater commented as he dropped from a rooftop directly behind Harry and Snape; the latter quickly turned to cover that side of them; Harry briefly thought it was hilarious that they – Harry Potter and his worst teacher – would end up back to back. "What a pity it would be for them to … die."

"Who are you?" Harry growled, glaring. "If you know what's good for you… leave."

The first Death Eater laughed, a clear and high-pitched tone, turning quickly into a cackle that sounded quite mad. "Who we are, he asks. Yet he himself has not introduced himself, and so rudely fought his way into our domain!"

"Such fools," the second said with a much lower voice, malice poorly concealed in his voice as he sneered. "Let us make them a little more… pliable. _Crucio!"_

The spell was quick and brutal – Harry didn't have time to defend himself, quite aware that shielding wouldn't have a point. The spell connected and Harry collapsed to the ground, a ragged scream making its way out of his throat as his very being felt like it was set on fire, sharp and intense. For a brief moment, he panicked; then, he suddenly realized what to do.

Snape looked horror-struck at Harry who was writhing on the ground, glancing nervously between the two Death Eaters that were seemingly ignoring him entirely. He was about to try and set off an explosive charm – anything to break the pain curse and get Black – however distasteful a person as he was – back on his feet. Then… the screaming stopped.

It was very lucky, Harry thought, that this Death Eater didn't control his Cruciatus curse as well as Voldemort did; under that one, he'd had no defence, no way to respond; merely mindless pain, too intense for thought. Unfortunately for him, Harry had gained some experience in dealing with intense pain. Between Voldemort's attempted possession and the intense fiery visions of the summer, he knew what to do; he brought all his will to bear on the one technique he'd been using for months now to combat this weakness.

The pain wasn't –gone- Harry thought, as he got to his feet; he couldn't see the Death Eater's faces but their body language said enough, clearly caught off guard by the fact that Harry was getting up while under the Cruciatus. He forced himself to smile – though reflections of the pain echoed through him like phantoms, Harry no longer had to let them control him and this – this could work. He'd need to be quick though, as he felt his mental fortitude crumbling quickly.

"What in the name of –"

"Pathetic excuse for a wizard," Harry spat, finally leading to the Death Eater breaking the connection, mere moments before it would have failed, sending Harry back to the ground – relief flooded his body as the pain finally fled, leaving it pleasantly numb, and he remained in that void, a sort of stillness in his mind induced by the Occlumency. Still, he reasoned, cutting off what little Occlumency prowess he had now would doubtlessly get his muscles screaming at him in protest, preventing him from going on.

Snape had an intensely curious look on his face as he cautiously kept an eye on both Death Eaters, backing away and dragging Harry along.

"That's impossible," one of them snarled. "The Cruciatus is undefeatable!"

"Only a properly cast one," Harry retorted. "Preposterous amateur. The Dark Lord lets even the weakest of wizards into his ranks now, doesn't he?"

Harry wasn't quite prepared for what he saw beside him – it was barely visible under the dark hood, but Harry saw the unmistakable signs of a smile. It took a moment to click. Snape was smiling. Harry realized why just as quickly as he noted the man's hawk-eyed stare; the Death Eaters were visible upset, fuming even; and anger made mistakes much more likely.

"What would you know of it?" the taller Death Eater asked finally, sneering. "Judging by your accent, you're from Britain – one of Dumbledore's people, then? That pathetic Muggle-lover can't hold a candle to Lord Voldemort's power!"

"I know plenty about the bastard," Harry started. "I served him for many years. He was pathetic even then, and I abandoned his ranks before he even managed to get himself defeated." It was a calculated risk to unveil his fake identity; he'd already known that it would soon be compromised, given that rumours had made their way around the Ministry almost instantly, even if he'd not shown his face, so it was a matter of time. Knowing him, Scrimgeour might've actually been the one to spread them. Here, now, Harry could make use of his enemies' ignorance still. He pulled back his hood, his smile wide and somewhat deranged. "Regulus Black, at your service. Now would you tell me your names, fools?"

The two looked stunned, the taller one reacting first, furious. "BLACK? Regulus bloody Black?"

"That is my name," Harry replied smoothly, a nasty smile making it onto his face. Harry felt strange – his forced use of Occlumency to ignore his pain was making him a little loopy, and he thought uncomfortably back to the warnings given by Moody about what extended use could do to a man. It wasn't much prettier than extended use of the Cruciatus.

"You're dead!" the second Death Eater said, hand trembling as he pointed at him with his wand. "You – you're- you bastard –"

"_Deprimo_." Harry intoned, forcing the man to his knees; it was a testament to the Death Eater's surprise about his survival that the second didn't even react, staring dumbly at Harry. "Do not insult your betters, scum." He intoned, releasing the charm and allowing the Death Eater to slump to the ground. He could've tried stunning them then, but he was uncomfortably aware that they were unlikely to fall for it. Improvisation, then.

Harry had begun to form a hypothesis – one of the two enemies had called the other brother, and he knew of only one such pair in the Death Eaters. He vaguely recalled that he'd stunned one of them in the Department of Mysteries, the year before. "Bow to your betters, scum. Since you refuse, I'll have to introduce you, won't I, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange?"

The taller wizard snarled, ripping his Death Eater mask off; he had a broad face, his dark hair streaked with grey and hanging in clumps across his forehead. He sneered as he looked with narrowed eyes at Harry. "Regulus, you traitorous bastard!"

Harry smirked as Rodolphus made his way shakily to his feet, the thin and sallow man removing his own mask to glare at their target, exposing a face similar to Rabastan's if much narrower, his hair evenly black and tied into a ponytail. "I don't know how you survived, Reggie. It doesn't truly matter - if you're against us, I won't you show you any bloody mercy."

"Likewise." Harry glanced to Snape who had wisely kept his mouth shut. "Well, shall we show them a little about proper duelling?" Harry asked him, smile curling around the edges of his mouth as he felt his Occlumency begin to take its toll – a deep pain in his bones made itself known though it was still too dull to be a hindrance – in due time he'd be incapable of moving a muscle; for now, he could soldier on.

"Like old times, eh?" Rodolphus said as Rabastan trained his eyes on Snape.

"Let the best wizard win," Harry whispered, repeating one of the many phrases that portrait-Regulus preferred.

Rodolphus Lestrange actually smiled at that, his hand twirling as he nodded regally. "It seems that our little duelling club just go a little more real, eh?"

Harry had but a moment to parse that sentence before cold dread seeped into his bones. He was a half-trained Unspeakable with only basics of Moody's fighting technique and half a dozen effective spells. He was a Death Eater and now – apparently – a trained duellist.

"Crap."

* * *

"_Expulso_!" Remus snapped, his spell smashing solidly into one of the wizards that had turned to look at George, suddenly appearing from a completely different direction than he'd last been and throwing Weasley Wizarding Wheezes like there was no tomorrow. Rafe was behind him, he knew, holding off Fenrir who was throwing around Unforgivables like they were candy. "Oh no you don't!"

It was odd, Remus thought, how invigorating this was. He twisted away from a cutting curse, another catching him in the arm, though it was merely a gash – too weak to do any serious damage. One of the werewolves tried to bite him, his teeth yellowed and vicious-looking; thankfully the worst that these folks could do, even on their worst night, would have no more effect on him. The next cutting curse found its mark and the savage wizard crashed to the ground, unmoving.

"I'm getting tired," Rafe muttered as he passed by, his shield charm renewed as eight enemy wizards remained; Hestia had made her way to Fred during Remus' assault while George hid himself and threw Portable Swamps and small explosives at anyone who dared to come anywhere near him. Fred looked out cold. "We need to get Greyback alone, at least. We'll all be dead if this keeps up. No time for pussyfooting."

Remus nodded uncomfortably, thinking back to the First War, and how reminiscent this was of that moment. Then, it had been towns and villages, much like earlier this summer; Voldemort had been out in force, but the Order of the Phoenix wasn't merciless, stopping them in their tracks without outright killing them. One of the reasons that they made little progress was their refusal to use lethal magic for that reason, instead electing to lock up any Death Eaters to be tried or shipped off to Azkaban.

It hadn't lasted the war – at some point Scrimgeour, then Head Auror, had allowed the use of Unforgivable Curses in serious altercations, knowing full well that one side working with a handicap would be a serious problem. This time around, there were no such rules. The Death Eaters presently following Voldemort knew what they were getting into, and the Dark Mark would not take hold on an unwilling individual – even if they might retrace their steps later.

The next curse he cast – a particularly nasty concussive charm known to have potential lethal effects – took the enemy by surprise. Granted, he'd been using a cutting curse that doubtlessly could be classified as dark, but at least that could be defended against; concussive effects by their nature were much more difficult, requiring a technique to pierce and split them apart rather than to merely block them, as that would mere amplify it. Two of the werewolves immediately crumpled to the ground, their hands clasping their ears; ruptured eardrums, no doubt. A second blast and they were still, unconscious.

Rafe – Rafe conjured a twenty-foot fiery whip from his wand. Even Greyback stood in awe for a moment, still surprised by the wizard's incredible feats of magic. It lashed forward, slashing its way across the midsection of the tallest of Greyback's followers and sending him howling to the ground, fire biting through his clothes as he desperately worked his way out of them.

"You've gotten serious, it seems." Greyback commented, exposing a yellowed set of sharpened teeth. "How… interesting. I'd never thought you'd have the guts to do it, either of you."

"You'll die here, monster." Rafe said. "You and all your pitiful excuses for followers. What did you do, raid the bargain bin for these amateurs?"

The last of the werewolves looked at each other uncertainly as Remus cut in as well. "We'll cut this base to bits and take back what you stole."

Greyback looked on blankly for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Take back? Our Lord has already long received what he required, you imbecile! Do you truly think that it would take him this long to take what he needed? No, what is left here is merely a lure. A decoy, if you will." He smirked widely. "Fell for it, too. Within the hour, there will be nothing left here – and both the Ministry and the precious Order of the Flaming Chicken will lose their people in a tragic accident."

"We're too late," Rafe cursed, looking nervously in the direction of the rest of the military base; Snape and Regulus were out there, somewhere, and they didn't know. Death Eaters, left behind to stall or kill any pursuers before erasing all traces of the base. Probably intending to let the Romanian government take care of who's left.

"Now then, children of mine," Greyback said, scowling. "Let's make this a little more fair, shall we?" The cutting curse was away before any of them realized – Fenrir had said no incantation but the reddish blade of magic slashed into Rafe's wrist with unusual intensity, only barely stopped by the glowing bracelet he was wearing on it. With a horrified expression Rafe grabbed at it; the object snapped open, detaching from his arm and clattering to the floor as a spray of blood erupted from the wound left behind. He crashed to the ground with an agonized cry, his other hand immediately grabbing his wand as he backed away, dragging Remus along.

"That was easier than I'd thought," Greyback continued, raising a hand to stop his followers from interfering as he picked up the bracelet, now looking quite harmless once more. "Let me guess – this little thing – an Amplifier Artefact." He smirked as Rafe paled, furiously pressing his hand over his wound which was seeping blood all over him. "I thought so. Let's see how you like it when it is used _against_ you, shall we?"

* * *

Harry faced Rodolphus Lestrange with quite a bit of trepidation – not only was the man smiling viciously at the opportunity for a duel, but he knew next to nothing about the man aside from the fact that he'd known Regulus and knew how to use a wand. Snape sized up Rabastan, the two carefully circling each other. Harry stood his ground, narrowing his eyes.

"I hadn't expected to ever get this chance," Rodolphus said softly, licking his lips. "So many times you beat me – and now here we are; you a traitor, I the loyal follower of our Lord – and we shall see what oath-breaking has done for you."

"One cannot break an oath that's not worth the ink it's written with," Harry said, making sure to rub his fake Dark Mark – Rodolphus didn't miss the gesture. He kept talking, meanwhile desperately trying to come up with a plan – the only people Harry knew how to duel had never gone all-out on him. "While you licked your master's boots, I was free. Even over all these years where Voldemort-" Rodolphus scowled at the use of the name, and Harry smiled, thinking back to the many creative insults that portrait-Regulus had used when describing his particular schoolmate. "When _Voldemort_ was a pathetic spirit-creature, I was free. You chose poorly, _Red-nose_."

"Don't call me that, Black bastard," Rodolphus barked. "_Crucio_!"

Harry flung himself aside, a Reducto flung at Rodolphus before he'd even fully thought it through; it tore through the air with fury, exploding against the wall with enough force to kill a man. Rodolphus was briefly stunned by the violence, immediately whipping his wand through an intricate pattern. "_Viscus Relinquo_!"

Harry ducked under the searing yellowish spell, his own wand cutting forward swiftly. "_Deprimo_!"

"Really now?" Rodolphus mocked as he effortlessly swatted it aside. "Once, maybe. Twice? Who do you think I am?"

"A cocky ass, that's what," Harry answered, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated on his duels with Moody. Yes, he's relied on the gravity-manipulation spell often, but that was because he used it creatively – how could he apply that here? There was nothing above him to stick it to, but perhaps – ah, that'd be interesting. Harry swished his wand again, glancing to his side. "_Deprimo_!"

"Again? What are you – " He stopped suddenly as Harry ran at him – but not across the floor as he'd anticipated, as any rational person would've thought. He sprinted right across the wall, climbing six, ten feet upwards, his wand trained at his feet; Rodolphus raised an eyebrow and followed him with his wand, but Harry made himself as small a target as possible. Now, if only he could…

Rodolphus lashed out, a concussive curse blasting against the wall as granite rained around them in great chunks; a Killing Curse passed them by, courtesy of Rabastan who was locked in furious combat with Snape. Harry focused on Rodolphus and suddenly whipped his wand over to him, the charm he'd been using on himself transferred to a new target.

Rodolphus didn't have time to think about what his enemy was doing – one moment Harry was running, bizarre as it was, on the side of the building, using a gravity manipulation spell to force himself sideways onto the wall. The next, he jumped down to the ground – and his victim found himself suddenly violently twisted sideways, desperately grasping at the ground as he found that the wall was now the floor – and it was quite far away. He plunged sideways, landing painfully with a clear snapping noise.

"Sorry about that," Harry said morosely, just as Rodolphus lashed out, a blast of magic enveloping him as he tried casting with a neatly broken wand. Harry nevertheless was forced to jump backward to avoid the effusion, quickly conjuring a Protego shield.

"That could've bloody killed me!" Rodolphus exclaimed, fishing into his robe; Harry realized worriedly that he'd pulled out a second wand. "You're not Reggie, are you?"

Harry gulped, trembling. He'd seen through the disguise? How? He glanced at his hands – yes, still those of Regulus, which certainly meant the glamour spells were still up. _How_?

"Don't be an idiot, Rodolphus," Harry muttered. "It's been many years and we're on other sides of the war – you knew I'd go serious. You even admitted as much yourself."

"You'd never kill me, I know that much. You were always the 'reasonable' one, after all," the Death Eater mocked, forcing himself back to the floor and breaking Harry's curse in the process. "You know well the agreements made between our families – the burning of the blood ritual, if you recall? If you pass – I might tell you where you can find that wonderful cousin of yours. She's so anxious to see you again, I'm sure…"

Harry's mind raced; he'd read this. It had been somewhere in his manual, a ritual among Pureblood clans from the 1700's, long considered too old-fashioned. A ritual bonding of blood so that the mixing of the two would catch ethereal fire, symbolizing the bond they shared. Also allowing each family a potent weapon against the other, thereby allowing any disagreement to be settled quickly and decisively. Something a mere glamour didn't imitate.

"If you want my blood, you'll have to claim it," Harry said, wincing as sharp pain made its way through his extremities.

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he searched for cover; Snape and Rabastan were still firing off potent spells and both looked beaten up, but the Potions Master actually seemed to be holding his ground, moving far more fluidly than he'd ever anticipated from the man; sometimes he forgot that Snape was only in his thirties or forties, not nearly old. Between him and them was only grass; he'd have to make his own shelter.

"Come on, Reggie – not afraid to toss out the nasty stuff, are you? Never did find them very tasteful, though you seemed to have little problem with them before…" Rodolphus taunted, firing off simple concussive charms as Harry backed away. The Death Eater laughed as he approached, mere feet away from his foe as he started, "_Avada_…"

Harry froze, realizing that he'd have no way to dodge. He needed to get away – needed to get Rodolphus away. He hadn't fully thought it through, but an option appeared to him; a spell he's been practicing of late, though never considered actually using in a duel. No incantation – that was the whole point. Harry forced his mind into the state required; calm, relaxed. He waved his wand in a complex spiralling shape, his eyes flashing as he forced his magic to do his bidding.

The effect was more dramatic than Harry had anticipated; in an instant a sphere of air appeared around him, forcing everything away in a sudden explosion, Rodolphus bouncing off and a vast swathe of earth gouged into the soil below him as the air encountered resistance; apparently this was what happened when you overcharge a spell designed to avoid a vacuum. Harry tiredly dropped into the hole he'd created – almost four foot deep. Rodolphus was slowly making his way upright, blood streaming freely from his scalp. Realizing suddenly what an opportunity this was, Harry fished the little bottle of Polyjuice from his robe and chugged it back in one go – the eerie feeling of crawling flesh was as he remembered and he suddenly found himself somewhat farsighted; the spells he'd been using to temporarily fix his eyesight and allow him to go around without glasses were no longer effective.

The Polyjuice Potion had had no apparent effect; Harry grinned, nodding to himself as he rose from the hole, just as Rodolphus appeared at the edge of it. He raised his hand, showing a bleeding gash he'd gotten moments earlier, courtesy of one of his enemy's nastier attacks. "It seems we're even."

"Let us see, then." Rodolphus said, spattering his blood across the floor as he quickly went about mending it, keeping a sharp eye on Harry; the blood on the floor flared up with a bright bluish flame; after mere moments the conflagration died down again. "Huh."

Harry grinned, thanking Scrimgeour for his foresight. It'd been quite a surprise, really, for Scrimgeour to even have this was remarkable – he'd not said where he retrieved them from, of course. The Minister had samples of the hair of the original Regulus Black.

"Well, then." Rodolphus said, straightening. "I… Reggie, this doesn't have to end like this…"

"You know it has to," Harry answered sadly. "I have obligations, you have your own."

"That's not what I meant," Rodolphus answered. "Listen…"

* * *

Greyback studied the dull, unadorned bracelet curiously; he'd seen it in action moments ago and was quite aware it was powerful, perhaps monstrously so. It didn't look it.

"You can't use it," Rafe said, wincing as he held his wounded wrist. "Don't… don't."

Greyback grinned, examining the object further. George looked on worriedly as Hestia stood up, quickly crossing the distance between herself and Rafe. Several of Greyback's followers following her approach with growls and narrowed eyes. Remus kept his wand at the ready for any sign of treachery as she moved to Rafe's side, carefully closing his wound with a medical spell she muttered softly under her breath.

"You brought your own healer?" Greyback observed in amusement, his eyes narrowed at her. She was about to move off when Greyback snarled at her: "I didn't say you could leave."

"Let her go, Greyback. She's not involved in this," Remus stated with conviction. "You and us – that's where this'll stay. It's how it's supposed to be, Lycanthrope to Lycanthrope."

"You consider me _noble_? I think not." Greyback said mirthlessly, clasping the bracelet artefact around his wrist with a quick movement and barking : "_Incendio_!" Rafe jumped aside, trying to intercept the curse with a cry that sounded more like a howl.

A two-foot wide column of fire burst from Greyback's hand; he cried out and dropped his wand in an instant, screaming as he grasped his charred limb, the skin burned straight off the bone by the overpowered curse; Hestia was on the floor, twitching, her robe on fire and smoke rising from her fallen form. Remus cried as he rushed to her side; he didn't need to check if she was alright; nobody could survive that much damage.

"You monster," Remus snarled; Rafe hadn't been quick enough to intercept the blast and his grief-filled look turned into rage as Greyback howled and his followers backed away nervously. Rafe picked up the bracelet again that had been blasted off the poor user's wrist when he tried unsuccessfully to channel magic through it, burning himself out after only a single spell. He clasped it back on his own arm and raised it to his enemies, who looked uncertainly at each other. Remus cried over Hestia's fallen form; she'd died instantly. Rafe hadn't known her well, but a rage welled up from deep inside him nevertheless; Greyback had used his tool, his artefact to do this horror – that was unforgivable.

"Fenrir Greyback – 'maker' of mine – you didn't think that an artefact such as this one would work without effort? Like a wand, only stronger?" he said, his voice soft but dangerous. "This has a cost – a cost no wand, not even the strongest, required in payment. I was willing to sacrifice part of myself to wield it – that's why it'll work for me. You – you will never use that hand again. That'll scar – and it'll be a cursed scar, permanently seared into you."

Greyback howled in fury, grasping his wand in his other hand; it was still smoking slightly from the fire-spell he'd launched. He slashed it sideward; nothing seemed to happen, but Greyback formed a slight smile, glancing back towards the centre of the base; great clouds of billowing smoke rose from the top of the tallest building, high into the sky. "I won't have to wait long for my vengeance… I am no stranger to this land. Farewell, children."

Without another word, he vanished – he and all the living werewolves apparated away with dull cracks, leaving a weeping Remus and furious Rafe behind, staring impotently at the devastation. Fred, finally having regained consciousness approached, as did George, hesitantly moving from their positions of safety. Fred limped, still experiencing the after-effects of his Cruciatus experience; neither of the brothers knew what to say, quickly making their way to each other – for a moment they merely stared at each other, before they hugged each other briefly, relieved that both had survived.

* * *

Snape found himself in a bit of a bind – though he was quite capable of a great many nasty curses, he found himself limited in his choices, as his personal repertoire was far too recognizable for his opponent, Rabastan Lestrange, to miss. If he used even one _Sectumsempra_, he'd be under suspicion – anything else he'd come up with and Rabastan would outright know who he was. Faced with those limitations, his spell choice turned out to be remarkably limited.

"_Inflammare_!" he said, his spell glancing off the tall wizard's shield and bursting on the ground; the embers quickly died out as they did not find suitable fuel and Rabastan snarled; the duel had become somewhat repetitious, neither one particularly prone to pulling out their best just yet. He glanced at Black –he stood at wand-point with Rodolphus Lestrange, though they appeared to be talking – if he hadn't known the man had sworn an Unbreakable Vow, he'd suspect treachery.

"_Expulso_!" Snape tried; not a spell he used often, it'd probably been the first time he used it since Hogwarts; it found its mark and Rabastan stumbled back as he gasped and covered his abdomen with his hand, covering the spot he'd been hit. "Give up yet, Lestrange?"

Only an incoherent yell came in return and Snape backed off, making his way towards Regulus – hopefully a little extra firepower would be enough here, even if he risked making it a two-on-two fight; his reserves were getting low and he couldn't keep this up for much longer. He was a Potions Professor foremost, and his physical abilities had never been his strong suit.

He was caught off guard as instead of a curse, Rabastan suddenly stormed forward physically, his full weight colliding with him and sending him scooting back, sliding dazedly into a hole – what was a hole doing in the middle of a perfectly good field? Everything was spinning – why was everything –

* * *

Harry cursed as Snape sailed by between him and Rodolphus and collapsed unconscious at the bottom of the hole he'd made with his air bubble technique; Rabastan panted loudly as he slid to a halt himself, taking deep breaths and attempting get back on his feet as he held a hand to his bleeding side. He grinned at his brother. "Got him."

Rodolphus looked apologetically at Harry before he nodded determinedly. "Seems that this is the end. I'm sorry… I suppose it won't work out, then."

Harry was panicking internally and the pain in his limbs was beginning to edge on debilitating – only his feeble grasp on Occlumency allowed him to remain upright at all, let alone appear collected. "It doesn't have to end like this."

"No," Rodolphus agreed silently, as he raised his wand. "But it will."

In a last-ditch effort, Harry threw all that he had at his secret weapon; the one thing he knew nobody expected, especially from Regulus Black, it seemed. He'd used it reflexively a few times now – pulling and pushing and levitating a few things haphazardly. Now would be the ideal time for his magic to be helpful and listen. He concentrated as well as he could, trying to ignore distractions as he brought his empty hand forward, lowering his wand as if admitting defeat.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Rodolphus asked as Rabastan finally stood upright; they flanked each other, and Harry saw his opportunity. With a strangled yell that was half a battle cry and half pain he slammed his empty hand forward, forcing the strongest magical blow he could manage without a wand.

Rodolphus had only a moment to respond with an incredulous gasp as he was thrown violently backwards, colliding painfully with his brother and sending both skidding backwards across the floor, crumpling over each other. Harry panted, immediately firing stunners at the duo; Rabastan was knocked out immediately and was partially on top of his brother who couldn't quite manage to get out from under him, looking in panic at Harry's approaching form, his sharp grey eyes narrowing as he sent another stunner that slammed into Rabastan's body.

Something changed in the air – Harry didn't quite know what but from one moment to the next, it was different. Rodolphus went from panicked to relieved in an instant, smiling cheekily as he waved – between one moment and the next he vanished, loose parts of his robe twirling to the ground in his wake. That feeling has been the wards going down – including the apparition wards. The Lestranges were gone.

* * *

"Is there anyone still here?" George asked uncertainly – Fred was limping beside him, his limbs still refusing to cooperate properly as they occasionally twitched – whoever did the curse had been quite proficient at it, it seemed. "It's so quiet…"

"Something's burning up there," Rafe said, subdued; Remus and he were dragging a stretcher along on which their fallen comrade rested. "When Greyback released the apparition wards, they probably all fled and lit the place up on fire in their wake, I'd imagine. We'll just have to see if the mission was successful."

"I dearly hope so," Fred muttered to his brother, looking uncertainly at Remus, who seemed heartbroken, gazing repeatedly at Hestia Jones' body. "If this was all for nothing…"

"Lupin," said a gravelly voice; Snape was propped up opposite the tall bunker, his arm hanging limply beside him and his eyes dull. "Black went in – he's trying to save what he can, in there. Told me nobody else should risk it. He told me to take the Portkey back." He coughed and winced. "He knocked out both the Lestrange brothers; saved my life."

Remus nodded, staring again at Hestia. "We … we lost her."

Snape looked disinterested but he acknowledged Remus, slowly rising to his feet and looking at the distraught Weasley twins and Rafe, who appeared exhausted. "How many did you fight?"

"About twenty," Rafe answered, rubbing his hand through his hair nervously. "We did well, considering."

"Greyback got away!" Remus snarled. "He should've… I should've…"

Rafe put a hand on his arm and nodded in understanding. "We'll meet him again, Remus. You know that it'll be one of us that takes him out, right? This time, he merely lost his hand. He'll not be so lucky next time."

A sudden implosion interrupted them – a large section of the bunker buckled inwards, fire bursting through the wall immediately afterwards and exploding outward in great streams of fire that eerily resembled serpents, fangs outstretched into the sky.

"Fiendfyre!" Rafe exclaimed, eyes wide. "H- Black went in there?"

"'The rash idiot," Snape muttered. "Should've been in Gryffindor."

* * *

Harry cursed as he avoided a metal beam crashing down from the ceiling – though the fire hadn't spread very far yet, it was ferocious, and he had no trouble telling what it was. Someone had cast Fiendfyre here, just after the Lestranges left; it would consume and burn until it had no fuel left, and this base contained a LOT of fuel.

"Anyone here?" Harry called out as he coughed and worked his way through the thick smoke and awful smell; he cast a more subdued version of his air sphere spell and found that it served quite well as a makeshift bubblehead charm , allowing him to take some much-needed deep breaths.

"Help!" Harry heard from somewhere in front of him – remarkably close, actually. He looked up, realizing that about four feet above him hung a panicking wizard, strapped hand and feet to a bar and looking slightly singed; not by Fiendfyre, thankfully. The man called again, desperately, in some foreign language.

"I'll get you free," Harry said; he quickly put a cushioning charm on the floor and a simple _Diffindo_ severed the iron bar that the man was hanging from; he landed with a slight bounce, quickly making his way to his feet, though he was smoking slightly. "Three. Three." He said, gesturing. "Three people."

Harry nodded in understanding, gesturing towards the entrance. "Get to the exit, I'll fetch the others." He saw the small man go – if he remembered his briefing correctly, that had to be 'Dob', one of the missing members from the Reserves.

Speaking of Dragons – though giant pens were here, clearly designed to hold the gigantic lizards, none were present. Harry saw clear depressions and scratches that suggested they'd been here recently; they must've been moved as little as an hour ago, straight to Voldemort. They had been too late – just by a little.

"Anyone there?" Harry called out again, casting a more powerful air sphere charm that unfortunately had rather the opposite effect than he'd anticipated; though smoke was blown away, the Fiendfyre reacted ferociously to the new oxygen and flared up dramatically, quickly beginning to spread towards the ceiling. Harry thought he could hear someone crying out in pain, though, and headed for the sound.

"Up here!" the voice called and Harry found a second wizard, bound like the first; he felt relief flood his system as he recognized the dirty and tired man as Charlie Weasley, his eyes wide and desperate as the Fiendfyre approached. "Get me down!"

The flames grew higher still and there was no more time; without even thinking of a cushioning charm Harry cut away the bar and caught Charlie haphazardly in his arms, lowering him to the floor where he managed to barely keep himself upright. He dragged the man along – molten metal began raining from the ceiling and he's recognized what was up there – a single glance had been enough.

Bombs. Lots of bombs. He heard another cry in the darkness – he briefly considered going back but the vicious Fiendfyre cut off his way back and he had to take Charlie to his brothers; ignoring his conscience he moved onward, Charlie barely conscious in his arms as he crashed through the gap in the bunker's huge door where Dob was waiting for him; they stumbled into the sunlight, Harry coughing his lungs out as Remus and Rafe quickly made their way over, helping him to the ground and casting what seemed to be some kind of healing charm. Fiendfyre burst out of the door and flared high into the sky, dragons and lions battling for dominance before the flare subsided; Harry imagined he could hear a dreadful scream echoing inside before it was silenced and he vomited across the floor, shuddering.

Fred and George were at Charlie's side, shaking him – Dob lowering himself to the floor and cried, his tears soaking into his ragged robe as he realized that he'd survived – but not everyone had.

Finally, Harry managed to get his bearings and looking at the people gathered around him – everyone was there, even Snape, except for – "Where's Hestia?"

"I'm… I'm sorry," Remus said sadly. "She… didn't make it."

Harry shuddered, realizing that there were more deaths than just whoever he'd left inside. He looked guiltily at the burning bunker behind him, suddenly realizing how close they still were to it, and what it contained. "We need to get out of here!"

"Right now," Charlie agreed, coughing wildly as Fred and George sighed in relief as he got to his knees and nodded at 'Regulus'. "The dead man's right. There's plenty to bring this whole place down around us in there, I'm certain. Fiendfyre's going to be quicker than normal fire in setting those off. We need to leave, _now_."

"Portkeys." Snape intoned.

Harry nodded distractedly, his mind on Hestia, on the building behind him, on the man he'd wandlessly pulled through a deadly ward. He'd been dealing in a lot of death today. "Let's leave."

It took Harry only moments after the Portkey activated and a wave of heat followed them – they were just in time, it seemed - to realize what had slipped his mind there, when they'd decided to evacuate a doomed military base. Two more wizards remained bound and under stasis, stashed under one of the planes in the hangar they'd first crossed. He'd forgotten all about them.

He felt sick.

* * *

**Author's Note :** Well, there we go - actionheavy and with some nasty losses for Harry's side, as he's for the first time personally confronted with how nasty a war can get, even in a battle between only a few people.

References here include the chapter quote obviously, as well as the bracelet, inspired by Ter'Angreal from the Wheel of Time series and gone into more detail about soon; the price is rather high, I'm afraid.

Next chapter, Aftermath, will deal with some of the repercussions of this chapter, including Harry going back to Sirius' house to deal with his part in the events, as well as more Kreacher. Regulus Black also finds himself with an invitation to the Weasley residence for dinner, and he's uncertain how he's going to go about lying outright to the family he loves most. Then, there's the wandless magic... that talk with Dumbledore had better be soon.

See you all in Romania - Aftermath.


	15. Romania : Aftermath

**Chapter 15 : Aftermath**

_One advantage of talking to yourself is that you know at least somebody's listening._ – Franklin P. Jones

* * *

Harry didn't really pay attention to the Portkey's sickening lurches, his feet slamming into the platform that they'd originally left from with a dull thud; he teetered briefly but remained on his feet; another time he might've been interested in how he managed that. "We left some behind!" He blurted, grabbing Snape's shoulder. "We left those-"

"I know." Snape said, looking away. His greasy hair blocked Harry from seeing the man's expression, but his voice sounded downright mournful. "It was – unavoidable."

"Damn it, Snape!" Harry snapped, suddenly furious "I put them under stasis! If that heat was what I believe, those two are buried in the rubble and they'll wake up to their death when the spell wears off! We can't just leave them there to suffocate!"

"What would you have me do, Black?" Snape snapped, shoving Harry away. "Dig them up with my bare hands? Risk capture by a foreign nation _again_?" Snape turned away, sneering. "Don't pretend to be so naive."

Harry shivered, looking over at the others, guilt practically choking him up as he was confronted with the evidence of how badly things had gone; someone had conjured a blanket and covered up the body, but the blood that was spattered on the ground under the stretcher made it all too clear what happened to Hestia Jones. Remus kneeled by her, anguished expression on his face. Fred and George were pale, their faces as serious as he'd ever seen them while Rafe was providing support for Dob and Charlie who looked on the verge of passing out.

"I'll take these people to St. Mungo's," Rafe said, catching Harry's eyes and nodding meaningfully, his expression betraying his own unease. "Black, I'd suggest you report to the Minister. I'll get Remus to do the same when we return." He gestured everyone along; Remus reluctantly picked one part of the stretcher, Rafe the other. "There's a floo through here, quickly now."

Harry didn't say any farewells; he didn't know if he could, as it seemed like his throat had closed up; his breathing became difficult and he supported himself against the wall, suddenly happy that the others had moved out of eyeshot. His trembling hands clamped around the decorative symbols of the Ministry of Magic's seal that stood out from the wall; he'd never noticed them before and for a moment he was transfixed. He shook his head, realizing that he was definitely not alright, his mind a chaotic mess.

The mission – it had been a trap, he realized now. The dragons were gone – if they'd been there at all. They'd been moved out of there through Portkeys or other means before the rescuers even made it close to the bunker. Charlie might have noticed more, but it didn't really matter; Voldemort had been aware that someone was going to attempt a rescue. He'd taken what he needed and left the rest to burn; it was through sheer luck that Harry'd even managed to get two people out of the bunker.

Harry found himself suddenly on his knees, tears forcing their way out as the situation caught up with him; his hands were blackened with soot and ashes, his robes singed by a stray spell or two, and he smelled like a forest fire. He's only barely made it out of that bunker – only returned two of the four missing people. 'Three people' Charlie's colleague had claimed – whatever he'd meant, at least one had burned to death in there, beyond saving.

Harry hadn't known Hestia more than vaguely; a member of the Order he's never really met or considered, and probably wouldn't have been able to point out on a photograph. Despite that, it felt like someone took an ice pick to his heart when he recalled that first moment he'd seen her laid out on the stretcher, dead. She'd died on a mission that he was supposed to be leading.

Perhaps more awful, Harry thought, was the fact that one of the first things he considered after that guilt over her death – was that he was thankful it wasn't any of the others. The feeling of disgust at himself was nearly palpable and he felt like he would retch; such an awful, self-centred thought to have at such a time.

He'd been inexperienced, taking things as they came at him; now he knew the price. He briefly considered stopping all of it; going back to Hogwarts, leaving the killing and dying to those fit to deal with it.

No. He shook his head in defiance, pushing himself up. He wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. He'd have to face this – this thing that Remus had warned him about, but that he hadn't really tried to understand. He'd given lip service to the concept of people dying in war, but now that he stood before that spectre of death, he hesitated. Was he pathetic, for doing so? Should he speak to Remus about it? A shiver went through him, realizing that the man would instantly know what'd happened. He's see through him in an instant, realizing that Harry and the 'Regulus' he'd gone on a mission with were the same person. He couldn't let those lives intertwine.

Who, then?

Harry thought for a long time, hunched up against the wall; he didn't know anyone as Regulus; there was nobody he could just go to. He considered Snape but that image was too bizarre to even contemplate, and considering 'Regulus' was allegedly a former Death Eater, it'd tip that man off too. As himself Harry didn't have many people that would be helpful either, that wouldn't connect the dots; he could go to one of his Unspeakable colleagues that knew anyway, but he doubted many of those had any experience with Death Eaters at all. Rafe – perhaps, but he didn't know if that'd make things better or worse.

Finally he determined that he should go report; Scrimgeour was doubtlessly waiting and sooner or later someone would come looking if he kept away. He tiredly walked through the gloomy hallways of the Ministry building, putting up a disillusionment charm as he headed for the elevator. A quick Scourgify removed some of the soot on his clothes and hair, but it seemed like he was covered with so much there was dirt even on the dirt; he doubted the Minister would care much. He had a splitting headache, doubtless courtesy of his abuse of Occlumency – his limbs were protesting severely and it felt like he could collapse at any moment – Harry forcefully ignored it. Unspeakable Black had to be there now, not Harry Potter.

Arriving at the first floor, Harry found the door to the Minister's office was open, and neither Percy nor any other secretaries were present. He blinked and carefully walked forward towards the opened door, a flickering light visible from within.

"You can come in, Potter."

Harry hesitated. "Minister Scrimgeour?"

"I've been expecting you." Scrimgeour replied; Harry cautiously entered, noticing that Scrimgeour was all alone in his office, a single candle lit on his desk while the rest of the lights were dimmed. Harry raised an eyebrow at the strange atmosphere. Scrimgeour chuckled and gave a careless wave. "Necromancers came to visit – they do like their theatrics. Now, then - you have come to report."

"Right," Harry said, wincing as he lowered himself into a chair across from the Minister. He looked nervously at the older man, distractedly twisting his wand between his fingers. "I – I'm afraid that... it didn't go so well."

"I am aware." Scrimgeour answered disinterestedly. "My sympathies for the loss of Miss Jones, of course – a most tragic incident."

Harry wavered, taken aback by the Minister's casual mention of Hestia – then realized that he'd not even told him anything yet. A galling suspicion came to him and immediately he noticed what the man was covering with one hand - a very familiar dossier. The implications didn't take long to occur to him – emerald eyes focused harshly on the Minister who returned the look unflinchingly, even unemotionally. The minister tapped the report lightly, nodding.

Harry flew from his seat, grabbing the Minister by his robe in one movement, forcing him forward across his desk. "You KNEW this was going to happen, you inconsiderate bastard? You knew people would DIE and you let it happen? _What kind of monster are you?"_

"One with more information than you." Scrimgeour said simply, deceptively calm. He'd used that line before. "Time cannot be changed, Mr. Potter – that what has to happen, will – I can merely help things along, edging them in the right direction. This was such a case. The report I obtained reported than an Unspeakable Black was involved in this mission, and that his presence saved three lives, possibly more."

"Wha…?" Harry responded, blinking. "No – did it tell you about Hestia? About the others? You can't just throw people's lives away based on some future mumbo-jumbo!"

"Mr. Potter – calm down." Scrimgeour shrugged off Harry's hands, sitting down again. "Sit – I will explain. I couldn't prevent those deaths any more than I can prevent someone sending this report back in time – it's already happened, in a way. Where this report came from, Miss Jones died in an altercation with Fenrir Greyback, servant of Lord Voldemort." He grimaced. "The report said two people were rescued from a burning building – their identities weren't mentioned, I assume someone that went can fill me in. Other parts are vague – you saved the life of an 'associate' but we have no idea who that is. Though this is a script of the future, it is at times vague."

Harry snorted in derision, glaring furiously at the document. "I don't think I like having one's future written out like that. Burn it, destroy it. Come what may, we'll take it on."

"Very Gryffindor of you, but tactically suicidal," Scrimgeour observed. "Though many events in this dossier are unavoidable, the details are vague enough that we may well yet influence the near future. It will fit the descriptions herein – it has to – but we may make the future a more hopeful place than it may seem from reading only these words."

"You're playing games with your employees – with all the wizards and witches of this country." Harry narrowed his eyes at the older man. "Problem is – who are you playing against? Fate? Does she know your moves in advance?" He shook his head in exasperation. "You're in a very dangerous game, at least."

Scrimgeour nodded, piercing Harry with a sharp glare. "You had better get it through your thick skull that there are more people than you fighting for the good of the Wizarding world, Harry Potter. I have my reasons to keep you in the dark, and you will accept that – until such a time as this is all old news." He tapped the folder again. "There are things in here that would make you run home to Dumbledore's clutches in a heartbeat, and yet I need you here. _You have too great a role_."

Harry scoffed, raising a hand to his throbbing head. "Look – I didn't ask for this. You decided it was a good idea to send me off to that vampire nest over in the U.S. or this disaster – I'm not trained for this. You might have forgotten but I'm _not_ Headmaster Dumbledore!"

Scrimgeour smirked, glancing at that awful report from the future, his eyes twinkling in a way reminiscent of the old Headmaster. "No, you're not – but I daresay… ah, let's not – spoil things. I understand your concerns, Potter- yet you have to trust me. I've asked you before, and I'll ask you again – trust me."

"I don't know if I can," Harry admitted. "You'll let people die, just so you can keep to your stupid script. I don't know what to say to that – I detest you for enslaving yourself to that… that thing." He snatched out, grabbing the report. "This shouldn't exist."

Scrimgeour shook his head tiredly, leaning on his desk. "I have made copies – I am not stupid. I promise you that I'm shaping a future that's the best possible as far as I can determine. The fewest deaths, the most victories. Trust me – I would give my very life to end this war."

Harry gazed at Scrimgeour, his mind filled with doubts; scenarios of Scrimgeour delivering the country in Voldemort's hands, of the Ministry falling before an onslaught of Death Eaters. Scenarios in which even the Department of Mysteries was ransacked, enemies of the new regime thrown through the veil. Scenarios of Hogwarts burning. Scenarios of himself, dead – unable to fulfil the prophecy and end the madness.

"Potter - - Harry, I must ask you to believe that I have the right intentions." Scrimgeour pleaded. "You may doubt my methods, and my choices – but never waver over whether or not we wish to accomplish the same thing. The end of this war." An unusually intense look made Harry pause; the Minister looked more regal than he ever had. "I will see to it that you have your chance to end it. I suggest training hard, honing your skills and making many allies – you will have to take that shot, and make it count."

Harry nodded, groaning as pain in his head and limbs became nearly unbearable to deal with. Ten minutes, maybe? Then he'd surely be unconscious. Scrimgeour gave him a worried look, taking the report with that Deathly Hallows symbol on the cover back from his suddenly powerless hands.

"I will debrief with Mr. Phelan and Mr. Snape – they'll inform me on all the details, I'm sure. You look exhausted – I'll arrange a few days off – perhaps take a trip home?"

"I don't have one," Harry answered, suddenly realizing how that sounded. He realized with a jolt that he owned Grimmauld Place now – he could crash there. He briefly worried about Order members being there – he knew Moody slept at the Ministry these days, but he had no clue about Remus – but pain distracted him. Right now it wasn't important. "Never mind, I'll do that. See you soon."

He didn't hear Scrimgeour answer as he stumbled off. He made it down the elevator and through most of the entrance hall – he kept his head covered, just in case – but he almost collapsed as he got to the area with the phone boxes, gasping and flopping down on one of the seats there with ragged breaths. This was getting ridiculous. He got back to his feet, putting up what feeble Occlumency he could manage to ward off pain and failing miserably. He realized that a trek through the entire city was out of the question. He briefly contemplated his broom, but that was probably an even worse idea. Then, an even crazier notion came to him.

Ultimately, Harry realized, he was probably too addled to really think things through – he found himself at the apparition departure point, forcing himself to walk straight as he quickly flashed his identification – Unspeakables thankfully got to skip ahead in line, as he'd probably pass out before long. He hadn't fully considered that this would be a first time for him – apparition was really discouraged for the drunk or wounded, too – but he did anyway; he had done shorter distances, after all. Concentrating on the room he'd slept in at Sirius' old house, he twisted and vanished with a crackling sound.

'Gotcha!' Harry thought dazedly as he was suddenly crashing into Sirius' bed after a few moments of dizzying horror, his body feeling stretched out and compressed at the same time. He'd landed haphazardly across the soft bed in a sprawl, his head comfortably on one of several pillows. It wasn't quite the room he had intended – and he wasn't sure all his hair had made the trip – but Harry was there. The dirt and the awful snake-themed ornamental decorations couldn't be from any other house, he figured. He smirked, mentally sticking his tongue out at Avicenna. Three months till blind apparition, surely you jest!

His snoring resounded loudly throughout the house – only one pair of pointed ears heard him.

* * *

The dishevelled bunch that sauntered into St. Mungo's raised a few eyebrows; Snape swallowed a bit of Polyjuice, his sharp eyes sweeping across the many patients and healers to find one that was free. He'd keep his fake identity until he got out of the company of the others, just in case there were any sympathizers of the Dark Lord among the Healers. Thankfully, several had already approached Rafe; Charlie and Dob were looking positively miserable, barely staying upright as it was and covered head to toe in a thick layer of soot and dirt, coughing loudly at the slightest provocation. Their breaths were visible, inhaled smoke and dust taking their toll.

"What on Earth?" A diminutive healer squeaked – he looked rather similar to Filius Flitwick, chipper attitude and all. Thankfully he didn't ask too many questions; charms were flying back and forth between the healers and their new patients, looks of concentration on a few faces. Rafe looked on worriedly as the stretcher with the remains of Hestia Jones was taken away, a distraught Remus looking after it.

Rafe sighed as the two he'd been dragging along were finally taken from him – he nursed his painful muscles and nodded at the healer who as usual merely responded with a compassionate, sad look – far too familiar. He'd gotten used to that with his Lycanthropy, let alone the rest of it…

"Black looked hysterical," Snape said neutrally, shocking Rafe out of his stupor. The greasy-haired man had a curious look in his eyes and the werewolf tensed. "He was disturbed that people had died – I'd never-"

"You haven't seen him for, what, fifteen years?" Rafe pointed out, worrying about the boy's well-being. Unlike himself, the boy didn't have ten years of experience. "He's been – safe, secure. He hasn't had to take a life in years… even indirectly. I've a suspicion he never thought he'd have to do so again."

Snape grimaced. "Black was never the most – malicious of Death Eaters, I admit. "He looked away. "Relations between him and myself have been strained – I'd assumed the matter laid to rest with his corpse. I'd – thought him loyal to the Dark Lord's cause. The revelation of that untruth…" He gazed at Rafe with intense eyes. "I wish to speak with him again, soon. Please arrange it."

"I'll do that," Rafe allowed, frowning. "Look – I can't tell you if he'll accept – I'm sure he's got other things to worry about. With those Death Eaters getting away, Voldemort –" Snape twitched, glaring. "He's going to know that Regulus is alive."

"He should've thought about that before running into battle with his own face," Snape muttered, stepping aside as a healer passed by him with a determined look and what looked like an eggbeater clasped in her hand.

Rafe shrugged, leaving the glowering man – rather less impressive right now without the sallow, hook-nosed face – and made his way to Remus, who had sunk into a chair flanking the edge of St. Mungo's emergency room. He stared blindly ahead, tapping his foot nervously.

"Rafe," Remus said dully. "How are the others?"

"They'll be alright," Rafe answered, putting a hand on the dishevelled man's shoulder, lowering himself in the next chair with an explosive sigh. "Healers are taking care of them – aside from the obvious, there's not a whole lot wrong with any of the others, I think."

Remus sighed, shaking his head tiredly. "I thought I'd gotten used to this last time around – this awful feeling. I can't believe we're back here again, back in another war. I'd hoped that death wouldn't come too close this time around." He sighed. "Hestia – I've known her for years…"

Rafe nodded in understanding, face downcast. "You said it yourself – it's happened before. Just – just keep on fighting for what you are fighting for, and it'll work out. You'll see. There are people that need you, I'm certain."

Remus nodded uncertainly, glancing up as he suddenly realized he was talking to an _Unspeakable_. "Rafe – how's Harry? He's safe, right? Safe in the Ministry?"

"Last I saw of him, he was unharmed," Rafe assured him uncomfortably. "I wouldn't worry about him, honestly. Look – that boy's no different than you and I now, you know. He might not be an adult in all respects, but he's been fighting this second war since its inception, before even Unspeakables got wind of it – have a little faith."

"Right." Remus shuddered. "It's just – I promised his godfather I'd take care of him – and now I feel like I've lost all track of him. At least in Hogwarts I had some idea of what was going on. Lately Harry's just … vanished. He's been so busy he's barely had time to write his friends."

"Doesn't sound like Hogwarts was the safest place either, if one can believe the kind of rumours I've been hearing." Rafe said, whistling. "I'd think he's safer here, considering the Minister seems rather fond of him."

"He does?"

Rafe grunted. "I've seen that kid head for the office after one summons or another a ton of times – and I've not seen him in some glossy advertisement for the Ministry yet – best guess, the old lion appreciates his input." He shrugged. "I only see the kid's face around dinner, probably not the best one to ask what he's up to."

"Alright." Remus sighed, glancing over the others of their little group, several of whom were getting treated; Fred and George unusually pensive as a Mediwitch dabbed some spell burns with a clear salve. "Why didn't Black come along?" Remus asked suddenly. "I could've sworn Severus said he was hit by the Cruciatus – did he just shrug that off?"

Rafe froze, thinking back to the strained movements that he'd seen Harry make; at the time he suspected he was just tired and sore from his mad dash through the burning bunker to save what he could. Did he do such directly after being _tortured_?

"He'll see someone on his own time, I'm sure," Rafe finally retorted with a shrug. He rubbed his wrist gingerly – it had been healed quite well on the field, but it'd be some days until the feeling that it was cut wide open would fade. His bracelet jingled slightly, looking decidedly unimpressive right now, despite its awesome power. He saw Remus look curiously at it and couldn't help sighing sombrely. "Ah. I figured you'd want to know about this. It's not a pretty story – probably best for another day."

"It's what allowed you to do those ridiculously powerful spells," Remus observed with trepidation. "I'd not expected the Ministry to have such – dangerous items. Imagine what Voldemort could do with one of those." He shivered.

"There's only the one," Rafe said with a shrug. "It's a couple hundred years old – has been in the Ministry's possession for the last eighty or so. You wouldn't want to use it, though." He grimaced, raising the innocuous-looking object. "It has rather – specific requirements, that aren't generally met. It's why Greyback was so soundly rejected."

Remus scowled. "Not enough – he got off one monstrously nasty spell, didn't he?"

"It costs him his hand, I doubt he thinks it was worth the price. I – I am using it to its full potential, and even I doubt it's worth what I pay for it – but I've no reason to hold back." He looked troubled, glancing at Remus uncertainly. "It's… difficult."

"What is this price?" Remus asked uncertainly. "I mean, it can't be that bad, can it?"

"The price is my life," Rafe said curtly, turning away from him; he stayed silent for a while, finally continuing with an exhausted expression. "Using it – the bracelet takes magic and expresses it far more powerfully that it normally would – it's one of the most powerful magical amplifiers anyone's ever seen. The problem is - what this thing takes, it never returns. With every use, one's magical capacity and lifespan decrease."

"It feeds on magical ability?" Remus asked, horrified. "That's dark magic – _very_ dark magic. Permanent decrease of magical potential's supposed to be illegal under at least five different laws, not to mention common decency. What in Merlin's name are you doing wearing that thing? _Using_ it?"

Rafe looked pained, glancing around himself before he nodded. "Alright… the reason is, it doesn't matter much, for me. The magic is classified as dark, sure – but only because of the fact that it shortens one's life. It takes intense use to get through one's magic, it's not instantaneous, and to even use this thing, you have to be pretty powerful already. I don't really have to fear shortening my life any more than other things already have."

"What are you saying?"

Rafe dithered nervously. "I'm dying." He wrung his hands, paling at Remus' horrified face. "Look – don't spread it around, alright? I've been to every healer that I could find, and it's - I've got a year, maybe less."

Remus didn't quite know what to say, slumping in his seat. Today was turning out to be a _very_ bad day. Guilt at getting Rafe to confess such a thing to someone who was practically a stranger these days was instantaneous. "Oh, god… I'm so sorry that I got you to tell me –"

Rafe scoffed, snapping his fingers. "Hey, I've not croaked yet. Don't pity me now, man. It's not like you got it better. We're in a war, just like way back then; we could all die next week in a freak accident or an attack - I just have a more solid deadline." Suddenly he chuckled. "Hah, deadline!"

"You can't take anything seriously, can you?" Remus asked demurely as Rafe chortled over his own pun. "Sometimes you remind me of someone else I knew. He was also a foolhardy idiot."

* * *

Harry woke up with a start, groaning loudly as spasms ran through his arms and back, on top of an uncomfortable stiffness he immediately associated with the awful contorted shape he's slept in. He dragged himself upright, blinking blearily. This wasn't his room at the Ministry. Huh. Glancing around, he quickly identified his location as Grimmauld Place – Sirius' bedroom. He was, in fact, splayed out across his godfather's bed, covering it entirely in charcoal and soot. How the hell had he gotten here?

"Hello?" He called out weakly, but his voice refused service – he croaked like a strangled frog, parched throat screaming for relief. It took him a few minutes to find a bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up a little; after fishing his wand from the floor, he went about cleaning up himself and the bed, aware that it was taking quite a few more spells than usual – he was still exhausted, and it showed.

He remembered leaving Scrimgeour's office – he wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to keep up a façade of health as the aftereffects of his abuse of Occlumency against the pain finally started to make themselves known, but he'd stumbled down the elevator and ended up somewhere on one of the lower floors – everything after that was a blank.

Wandering down the stairs of the old Black residence, Harry wondered what he'd been thinking, coming here; pained memories flashed before him in every room, Sirius laughing, or playing as Padfoot, or tending to Buckbeak. The entire place was silent like the grave and smelled vaguely of decay – if anyone had been here in the last few weeks, he'd be surprised. Evidently the Order had abandoned it – or only used it sporadically at this time – since it'd switched ownership to someone who wasn't in the Order. Harry hadn't heard about it from Dumbledore, but supposed it wasn't really important, as this could hardly be the –only- home available.

When he arrived at the hall that led to the front door, it took him a moment to realize that something was off, besides the fact that someone had finally put aside that awful gaudy umbrella-stand. Sirius' mother, Mrs. Black, permanently irate loudmouth even in painting form, was gazing at him with wide eyes from her canvas, her mouth hanging open.

"R-Reggie?"

Ah. Harry realized that in his somewhat confused state, he's stumbled in here as Regulus – he hadn't cancelled the charms on himself. He still looked like Sirius' brother and this woman's – son. Tempted as he was to voice his disgust, he instead figured that getting on this witch's good side was probably a good idea; at least for his ears. "Mother."

"You – you live?" She asked loudly, raising a hand to her mouth in wonder; Harry hadn't ever seen her so animated – well, not in a positive way, anyway. "I thought…"

"You thought wrong." Harry retorted immediately. "It's been many years, Mother. How have you been?"

"How have I been – I'm dead, what do you think?" She grumbled noisily. "Traitors and Mudbloods took this house – your no-good brother came back and made use of the place, too. It's been a non-stop affront to any proper witch's sensibilities! Where were you?"

"I was working," Harry answered shortly, wondering what he should tell the painting. The fake history of saving himself by going to the Minister would probably make her mad – after all, being a Death Eater was doubtlessly what she'd expected him to be doing – but lying would probably lead to being found out pretty quickly, the first time Mrs. Black contacted any painting with even the slightest contact on Voldemort's side. He'd have to consider the truth. "I'd not given the house much thought over the years – I was in hiding."

"In hiding," the painting scoffed. "Such a plebeian thing to do, given that you are from the noble House of Black! Who could you possibly be hiding from?"

"The Dark Lord, of course." Harry shrugged. "I displeased him – he wished for my death. However much I treasure pure blood and superiority of magic, I could not stay with that hanging over my head, obviously. I found myself a way out and took it."

"You - _you're_ a traitor?" Mrs. Black asked, gaping. After a few moments her expression changed to downright thoughtful, something Harry had definitely never seen on her face before. (Of course, the previous times she'd seen her had largely consisted of enraged ranting or cursing.) He suspected that between finding a child alive and him not being a Death Eater anymore, he'd probably broken the poor witch.

"If you wish to call me a traitor, feel free. I'm not the only one," Harry said finally, turning away. "The Dark Lord's – madness – is not a topic I wish to discuss. I didn't come here to speak to you at all – I required a place for the night. I'll leave - you won't see me again."

"No – no, stay." Mrs. Black asked sounding somewhat desperate. She dallied for a bit, before finally deciding on something, nodding forcefully. "Alright… you can stay, you can stay. Your room's how you left it, I'm sure…"

"My room?" Harry wondered, blinking. He didn't remember seeing any rooms besides the main bedroom and Sirius' – Regulus had been out of the house for a while, so he'd figured it had already been cleaned up and reused when the place was abandoned.

"Yes, yes, your room – it's on the second floor, third door on the right, where you left it. You're not that forgetful, are you?" The painting huffed, crossing her arms. Harry nodded uncertainly, edging away – it seemed that his alleged betrayal of Voldemort probably hadn't been the best of news for the old witch, but at least she'd not started screaming.

Harry quickly made it up to the second floor – he'd intended to leave, but the prospect of Regulus Black's own room was too tempting to deny, given the face he was currently using. Perhaps there he could find what had happened to the real one, discover what Dumbledore was on about when he asked for a meeting. He felt strangely giddy, the residual pain in his limbs nearly forgotten.

As he walked down the hall he met with a sight that caused him to stop, perplexed. There were only two doors in the hall. He could've sworn that the painting had said that Regulus' room was the _third_ door…

He'd barely thought of it when quite suddenly the wall was squeezed apart, a door pressing itself into existence as a soft light shone from within. It took Harry a moment to understand what just happened and a chill ran down his back.

_Fidelius_.

He knew that Dumbledore had put a Fidelius charm on the entire house, but this he hadn't expected. Regulus' room, and only his room, was also hidden away. The Secret Keeper was equally obvious – Mrs. Black, who had casually blurted the location to him, thinking he was Regulus. Who would make a _painting_ into a Secret Keeper? How was that even possible? Had Dumbledore done this, or perhaps Regulus himself?

"Is someone there?" A voice called from within the newly appeared room. "Is that you, me? My, that sounded strange…"

Harry blinked owlishly as he stood indecisively at the door for a few more moments before he walked in – the room was dusty and dilapidated, but had stood the test of time better than most of the rest of the house did, probably due to a lack of Kreacher's 'cleaning'. Harry quickly found the person who had spoken – or rather, the painting. Above a large bed hung a rather big and gaudy painting, its edged somewhat frayed and covered in dirty spots. It depicted an impatient and frowning young man; Regulus Black. Harry couldn't help a gasp.

"Well, that's one way to great yourself, I suppose," The painting supplied lightly. "Nice to meet you, me. It's been – well, a while. Didn't figure it would take quite this long to return home, I admit. How's life?"

"I – didn't know I had a painting," Harry stammered, uncertain on how to proceed – how did one talk to the portrait of a Death Eater? Not to mention one that also happened to be oneself?

"Ah, well, I suppose a decade has passed, and such a minor event as sitting still for a painting might not be the most likely to stick in one's mind," Regulus allowed. "So, what am I – you - doing back here, in this house? It's been abandoned for a long time, as far as I've been able to tell."

Harry frowned, frustrated. He knew quite a bit about Regulus- but not more than the guy himself. He'd mess up once, and the wizard would undoubtedly dismiss him as a fraud, and lock him out. Here was a great source of information – and he'd have to lie to get it.

"I've been away for a long time," Harry said. "I don't know how much you've followed what goes on outside this place, but it's been many years since the Dark Lord's first fall – he has only recently returned."

The painting-Regulus nodded, interested. "I have spoken to other paintings – there's a few that the bint downstairs told the secret of this room to, and they visit me occasionally. He shook his head in exasperation. "I never should've thought of using that portrait – she's only gotten crankier with age." He ran a hand over what was apparently permanent stubble and looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Tell me, how much do you know about magical paintings like this one?"

Harry blinked. "Shouldn't you know what I know?"

"Though paintings can be made to resemble living people, more commonly they are imbued with whatever is available at the time of dying." He looked at Harry meaningfully and the hints suddenly fell into place. His shocked expression didn't elude Regulus. "I see that you understand - I quite distinctly remember the death of one Regulus Black. It's not a pleasant memory, but real; therefore, you cannot be him any more than I am my mother. To be fair, I had other advantages to figuring that out. You do a fair impression, though. My commendations."

Harry stammered for a moment, finally sighing. It seemed like the cat was out of the bag, and he was pretty sure memory charms didn't work on paintings. "Alright- I'm using your identity as a cover. You're dead – your human version, anyway - and nobody knows what's happened– they don't know that I'm not really you. It's been helpful, I hope you don't mind."

"Yes, very clever," Regulus agreed. "Masquerading as the reviled Regulus Black – I speak of the flesh-and-blood counterpart, of course - is a rather interesting choice, though. I'm afraid that, well, let's stick to 'he', for fear of confusing matters – was not the most loyal there, at the end of his life."

"Not at his most loyal?"

"He died betraying the Dark Lord," Regulus said, brow creased, gesturing vaguely in the air. "Expired trying to destroy an object that belonged to Him – a very important object. Though he didn't succeed, it was at least taken from the Dark Lord's clutches." He smirked. "As you can understand, that is not common knowledge."

"You betrayed Voldemort?" Harry blurted. He blinked. "Huh. I guess I have been following in your footsteps, then." Apparently his alleged ex-Death Eater version was a lot more accurate than he's anticipated, Harry realized.

"Well, If it counts for anything, I was as surprised as you," The painting said with a smile. Regulus squatted, gazing interestedly at his other self. "Feel free to drop your glamour spells, Mr. Potter – I already know your identity."

"H-how?" Harry asked, appalled. His mind raced as he tried to understand how a painting of all things knew about his alternate identity, given that it'd been locked in this house for who knows how many years.

"I know many things," Regulus answered mysteriously, still with that cheesy smile. Finally he relented under Harry's piercing stare. "This isn't really the first time we've met – oh, certainly not – so it's more of a reunion than a first meeting. Though I suppose from your perspective, this all hasn't happened yet."

"Oh, bloody hell." Harry exclaimed slowly. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he squatted down on his bed, stripping the glamour charm from his face; he left the rest, as he would still need to get out of here eventually. "I take it we're talking time travel again? I feel lately like everything important I'm to do in the future's already happened."

"Oh, not everything," Regulus chided. "The two of us – you could say we're kindred spirits, perhaps? You'll find out eventually, wouldn't want to make things even more confusing. You'll meet the actual living, breathing Regulus eventually, and if I remember correctly, you'll even be at the creation of this particular painting. Riveting stuff."

Harry sighed. "I'm beginning to think going along with the Minister was a bad idea – I already can't make heads or tails out of all of this. Time travel's just going to muck up everything even more. What a drag…"

"Hmmm." Regulus said, frowning. "Future-you expressed some similar sentiments – though he was rather more, eh, impressive than you are currently." He gazed into the distance briefly. "Ah well, you'll get there, eventually."

"Please stop talking about things that I don't have any knowledge of," Harry begged. "It's bound to make me go mad. More so than now, anyway."

Regulus snickered, muttering something under his breath. "Well, I'd better tell you what I'm supposed to – no more silly games. Might just cause a paradox and pop us both out of existence, eh?. I'm supposed to fill you in on what I set out to rid the world of. Listen – the object I set out to destroy –" He raised his hands dramatically into the sky. "– was a Horcrux."

A silence fell over the two people. Harry scratched his head, confused. "What's that?"

Regulus groaned, dropping his hands and scowling. "Take away all my fun, why don't you? Do you have any idea how boring it is to be a painting in a closed room for years? Not to mention only having boring old Black patriarchs and such to speak to? Shocking people's a pastime." He turned, grabbing a book from a bookcase that was painted on his own canvas. "These books – they're helpful enough if I speak them out loud," Regulus noted. He held it up – it said in spidery writing 'Secrets of the Darkest Art'. Regulus pointed at the book with a disgusted expression. "In short, a Horcrux is a wizard's version of a Phylactery."

Harry stared blankly.

"A Phylactery – you must've heard the tales of Liches, undead ghouls that continue shambling long after they're supposed to have died? No?" Regulus sighed. "I can't believe you're such an idiot at this point – anyway, a Phylactery is a place where some ancient sorcerers stored their soul, so that even if their physical body died, the soul remained and resurrection in a new body or in an Inferius was possible." He tapped the book he was holding with a nod. "Though whatever process Liches used has long been lost, wizards replicated it – some claim Herpo the Foul was the one who discovered how - in the form of the Horcrux."

"Storage of the – soul?" Harry asked. "You mean Voldemort's carrying around his –soul- in some object, instead of his body?" He had the disturbing image of Voldemort strutting along, a little box with a beating heart under his arm.

"Yes, well, here is where the Horcrux gets a little creepier than the phylactery." He frowned and opened the book to a seemingly random page. "A Horcrux isn't the entire wizard's soul – instead, a piece of the soul is torn off and stowed away. Since only a full soul can move on – even if it is in pieces – it keeps the wizard bound to this world, effectively immortal. Only if all the parts are torn from their earthly bindings will the whole continue forward – well, unless it's maimed too far, in which case I'm afraid nothing can help. Ripping the soul apart is not a very healthy activity, as you can imagine."

Harry ran a hand over his scar, eyes wide. "That's how he survived when he tried to kill me – that's how he was able to get back – his soul was stuck here? Some part of him was still around, so the way onward was barred?" He gulped. "Does that mean he's truly unbeatable?"

Regulus scoffed. "A Horcrux is merely an object holding the soul sliver – hit it with something powerful enough and it'll give up the ghost – quite literally – like anything else. The problem would be to find the things." Regulus was briefly silent, eyes looking at something distant. "Flesh-and-blood Regulus tracked down one of these objects and took it, but was unable to destroy it."

"One of them?" Harry asked, paling. That had sounded far too ominous. "Voldemort made _multiple_?"

"I'm afraid Lord Voldemort's rather insane," Regulus retorted dryly. "I'm certain there's more than just a single one. Other people certainly know more about that than I do. Regardless, one of the Horcruxes is in this very house. Kreacher has it."

"Kreacher?"

Regulus looked embarrassed. "You'll know what happened with that object eventually, why Kreacher has it with him – don't think too badly of me, will you? I merely let thing happen as they should…" He turned away, ashamed perhaps? "The locket – you'll have to take it. Don't put it on – it's quite malicious."

"What do I do with it?"

"Take it to Dumbledore," Regulus said confidently. "He'll know how to get rid of it. Indeed, it'll be a great tool for getting him on your side in this whole matter." He frowned, looking over the illusions that Harry was still using. "You'd better make sure to stock up on Polyjuice, those illusions aren't going to fool that man. Just call Kreacher when you're somewhere private, my face should convince him well enough. Take my wand too, I'm sure it'll serve you well."

"I'll take that into consideration. You really don't mind that I'm using this – form? I could ruin your reputation…"

"Oh, I don't care, and I'm sure fleshy Regulus would find it downright flattering for someone to pick his face to mimic. Who knows, perhaps restoring the Black name's reputation is in your future? That'd be a nice repayment." Regulus smirked. "Now – I had some words from your future self – he figured it couldn't hurt if they were delivered via an intermediary. Seeing as we're both still here after all of what we just said, I assume it's possible."

"From my… future self?" Harry asked, blinking. "What could I have to tell myself?"

"Well, it went like this:" Regulus harrumphed, then started: "Though they go mad they shall be sane, though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion."

"That-" Harry said, cutting himself off. Why would his older self recite that poem? It took him a moment to understand, and it felt like someone had poured ice down his back. He remembered clearly his talk with Remus; his old teacher had warned him that casualties were inevitable, and that he had to deal with that – he remembered swearing to himself that he'd do anything to end this war, come what may. His _future self _was actually giving him advice on how to deal with yesterday's events? Reminding him of the convictions he'd stated during summer through that poem. He'd barely thought about that, lately… "Messages from myself - this is really freaky. I suppose I'll have to remember to tell myself that in the past – or future."

"You don't know the half of it," Regulus muttered. "Well, at least you know it's good advice – I mean, who are you going to trust if not yourself?"

Harry nodded mutely, his expressing darkening. "My future self thinks I should man up, despite everything. That's a tough order. He's got it easy, he's not the one that has to do it." He sighed forlornly. "Great. In the future I'm an asshole."

* * *

Snape was less than enthused when he finally returned to his dungeons, clothed once more in his long black robes and his own face. Students scurried out of the way the moment they saw his scowling face. He was perhaps even more foul-tempered than usual.

His time at the Ministry had been nearly pointless – aside from adding some minor details, Scrimgeour had largely been filling in both parties on what happened, having already heard from the two Unspeakables about all the important things. The most grating was hearing that Regulus Black had not told anyone about saving him from two Death Eaters that would've surely killed him otherwise, whether or not they knew his identity.

Slamming his quarter's door loudly he found three of his potions beyond repair – being hours later than he anticipated, two were a pale green – where they should be emerald – and one was entirely gone, dissipated due to overheating. With a swish of his wand he vanished all three solutions, thankful that at least the Wolfsbane had survived the lack of attention.

Losing another member of the Order – he was used to it, by now. During the first war, it was practically a weekly occurrence, and in his time as a Death Eater he'd seen numerous things as well – he wasn't surprised in the least. Dumbledore would doubtless have a big ceremony, and he grimaced even thinking about attending. He detested the concept of public grieving, particularly when grief is barely present.

Far more occupied was he with the plans of the Dark Lord; he'd clearly had some intention with luring the Order to Romania, setting up a trap, if a rather lacklustre one considering how few casualties there were. The presence of two Unspeakables had likely been the factor that hadn't been taken into account - Snape had to begrudgingly admit that from what he heard, both had been a great help.

This left a disquieting notion – if the Dark Lord was attempting to take out the Order by trapping them, the drawn-out testing that had been going on most of the summer – small attacks to figure out what the Order would do – were likely at an end. Future attacks were bound to be far more serious. A shiver ran down his back as he dropped into his comfortable chair, gaze fixed on the ceiling. This could very well be the true opening shot of the Second War.

Someone knocked on his door – it was late, and Snape irritably looked over, shoving several big tomes on potions ingredients off his table by accident – he groaned as he noticed placeholders dropping out. "Go away." He barked.

Another knock came, more insistent – if it had been Dumbledore, Snap thought, he'd simply have opened the door. There was no reason anyone had to bloody knock on his door in the middle of the night while his head was pounding like a drum.

"If it's not a matter of life and death right this mute, go away." Snape snapped. He heard a shuffle on the other side of the door, before silence returned. Snape sighed, muttering under his breath. "Good."

Another knock. Snape groaned in irritation, stomping over, wand in hand. "Remove yourself. Right. Now."

"Severus?" came Dumbledore's concerned voice. "Is everything alright?"

"Albus," Snape said, blanching, lowing his wand instantly. He had to be pretty tired to snap out like that. "I – I apologize, my day has not been the most pleasant…" He quickly opened the door to find the old man clothed in an awful mismatched purple-and-green robe, glancing behind himself with a puzzled expression. "What can I do for you, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore didn't answer immediately, quickly entering Snape's quarters and shutting the door. "I noticed your return; I've just returned from meeting with the Weasley family – I considered it prudent that I retrieve your recounting of events now that recollections are still fresh."

"Of course," Snape murmured, walking back to his chair. "You've doubtlessly already been informed on the generalities…"

"Mr. Fred and George Weasley did indeed elucidate what transpired, yes; I'm afraid Mrs. Weasley was quite distraught and expressed strong opinions regarding their inclusion in the Order." Dumbledore agreed, sinking into his own seat which he's just conjured. "Of course, the two of them had other ideas."

Snape grunted. "I'm not the one to ask, I barely saw what they did."

Dumbledore nodded. "I would like to hear what occurred from you, though – a far more disciplined and observant mind than theirs. You were with Mr. Black throughout, and he is of great interest, as you can imagine."

Snape muttered something unflattering under his breath. "I can do better than telling you – I have this here." He tapped his desk and with a shimmer Snape's pensieve appeared. Raising his wand to his temple, a long and thick silverfish strand dropped into the bowl with a plop. "All the relevant details are there – I was not present for the remainder. Take them and leave."

Dumbledore nodded. "Severus – before I go - I know what you think of funerals-"

Snape turned away, ignoring him. This wasn't something he was going to discuss now, he decided; not when his eyelids were drooping and his mind fuzzy. "Take the memories and go."

Dumbledore didn't answer for a time, his expression pained as he looked again at Severus, his lanky frame silhouetted against the flames below softly bubbling cauldrons. "Don't… shut everyone out, Severus."

"That is hardly why I refuse," Snape answered. "Good night."

The door closed with finality.

* * *

Harry had cleaned up Regulus' room a little and spent most of the rest of the day speaking to him; a wide variety of topics passed by, interspersed with all sort of personal details. Harry figured that after this, he should be able to fool anyone; half the stuff was barely known by anyone living; details of a lost life.

Regulus was incredibly willing to help – Harry had asked him suspiciously what he got out of the deal, but the painting had simply shrugged, pointing out that he'd known that Harry would come looking for it eventually; he knew he'd already told all this stuff to future Harry, so had no reason to hold back. It was, Harry thought, one of the most mental justifications he'd ever heard.

The Horcruxes were the topic he most returned to; Regulus had few insights on where to find any of them, save for what was apparently a relic of Slytherin's: a locket. He didn't even know how many Voldemort might still have – two, three? He briefly considered how lucky it was that he'd already destroyed one, unwittingly.

The topic of Tom Riddle's diary had popped up eventually; a part of Voldemort, independent of him, locked in an inanimate object. The diary had been a Horcrux, perhaps the oldest - it had been confirmation of the concept that Voldemort had made more than one of them, a truly disquieting observation.

"It's time I leave," Harry said, glancing outside. "I can't just stick around here forever, even if you're great to talk to." He smiled at Regulus. "You should consider becoming a teacher or something."

"History, perhaps?" Regulus wondered wistfully. "Between being an unchanging portrait and my contact with time-travellers, I probably have the qualifications for something like that – and I can't be much worse than Binns, can I?" He snickered. "I'm fine, here – just come visit sometime."

"I will." Harry promised. "If you weren't attached with a permanent sticking charm, I'd give you a nice place at the Ministry…"

"I doubt they'd enjoy you owning a painting of a Death Eater," Regulus pointed out.

"Yes, yes…" Harry sighed, putting up his concealment charms again, two identical faces staring at each other briefly. "See you later, then."

"Sure. I'll stick around." Regulus answered, smirking. He ignored Harry's groan as the latter moved away, shaking his head. "Good luck – you'll need it."

Harry's walk back to the Ministry – no way was he going to try apparating blind again, not until he had his license – was quiet and uninteresting; he counted the cracks in the sidewalk idly as he passed from street to street, trying to recall where he'd entered the Ministry before; there were a few entrances, but he'd only ever used the same one. He'd made sure that his clothes looked sufficiently Muggle, though he kept his wand close at hand, just in case.

It was strange, really – his impromptu unconsciousness had robbed him of most of a day, and he had no clue exactly what time it was; he just figured it was somewhere in the afternoon by the sun's place in the sky. It was sometime yesterday then when he returned – he'd skipped out on Rafe and the others as soon as he could, and he had no idea where any of them were or their health – he felt completely out of the loop.

Finally, after two unsuccessful attempts to dial the Ministry in public payphones – there were rather few of them left, it seemed – he was pleased to hear one announce his arrival at the Ministry – this one went slightly westward as it descended; a different one from before, then.

"Unspeakable Black?"

Harry blinked as he left the elevator; a young woman, apparently an Auror, was waiting for him. She was evidently stationed at the entrance on the off chance he should come in today. "Yes?"

"I was told to deliver this to you," the Auror answered, handing him a neatly sealed letter. Suddenly, Harry recognized her - she didn't have multi-coloured hair or was pulling strange faces, so he almost missed it. He'd seen her before, joked with her before. "Nymphadora Tonks?"

Tonks did a double-take. "How do you know my name?"

"Well, I'm not sure if you'd know me," Harry answered with a friendly smile. "I suppose with the worst people knowing already, you can't hurt." He stuck out his hand. "Regulus Black, nice to meet you."

Tonks grabbed his hand, blinking confusedly. "I suppose that it wasn't a codename then – you're an actual Black. Though…" She paused, raising an eyebrow. "Regulus? Aren't you a Death Eater? A dead one?"

"Evidently neither," Harry answered smugly; he felt quite a bit surer in his borrowed skin now that he actually had permission! "I work down on Level Nine – it's been ages since I even saw daylight, it seems. It's nice to meet another member of the family."

Tonks didn't seem to have parsed the situation yet, as he was still gaping; Harry checked the letter she'd handed him, and immediately realized what it was about. Doubtlessly owls couldn't find his new name – the real Regulus was dead, after all. Dumbledore would assume it the Ministry's doing – much like the post to Harry Potter was rerouted – and had decided to deliver a message in person – or as close as he could.

"Wait, you're mum's cousin?"

"Yes –" Harry answered, "In fact, I had intended to send your mother a letter one of these days. Since my brother's untimely demise, responsibilities as the head of the House of Black fall to me. I'd wondered if she would reclaim her birth right."

Tonks practically squealed, almost bowling herself over as she tried to hug him. "You'd bring her back into the family? She always did hate that the only decent Black was kicked out – no offense, of course."

"None taken." Harry smirked, gingerly removing her arms – it was somewhat uncomfortable to realize that nobody else knew that he was nowhere near the thirtyish that Regulus looked. "Keep in touch, will you? I have to get going."

"Of course, I'll tell mum about you – I didn't even know I had any decent cousins – do you count as my cousin, by the way? She'll be really excited, I'm sure…"

Harry snickered; Tonks very much seemed a bubbly teen rather than a proper Auror, but he rather liked the light-hearted side of her. Perhaps he should consider visiting her on the second floor sometime? Despite his discomfort, he couldn't help but part with one of Regulus' common phrases, if the painting's stories were anything to go by. "Well – see you later, beautiful."

He smiled widely all the way to his room as he stored in his memory the moment she blushed so hard even her hair turned red.

* * *

Harry slumped down on his bed, exhausted; though he knew he really should visit a Mediwizard about the Cruciatus he'd been under and his impromptu defence, he couldn't be bothered right now; his mind was way too focused on other things. Between the immediate aftermath of the mission and his time with Regulus' painting, he felt like he had way too much in his head to actually focus on.

Mostly, his mind kept returning to what were evidently sentiments from himself; he himself apparently thought that he should shrug off what happened, or at least get on with it. He knew Remus would say much the same thing. He considered going to Rafe, but realized that he was really just putting off accepting that they were right, and he was being stubborn.

His future self could be a real smartass.

If he was going to continue this, things had to change. Harry grimaced, thinking back to his battle with the Lestrange brothers; his desperate gambit with the _Deprimo_ spell and his feeble and untrained wandless abilities had saved him, but they'd hardly been skill; the fact that both Lestranges underestimated him was likely the reason he survived. He'd need to buckle down and get some serious spells in his repertoire – nasty ones, if need be. Perhaps he should suffer the humiliation of asking Snape for that slashing spell?

Whenever he thought back on his fight with Rodolphus, he recalled the brief conversation he had with the man – he wondered if anything would come from it. He'd put out an olive branch, a would-be connection with someone that the actual Regulus had known quite well. Perhaps, in time…?

Potential connection with one of the Lestranges aside, he knew full well that his current combat spells were insufficient. If he'd ever come to face Voldemort again – well, he only got away with luck last time, and he'd probably not get that chance again. Tomorrow he'd go to Burbidge, and plead a temporary assignment with the Aurors, to get his combat up to speed. He was well aware that the timeframe for a Death Eater attack was growing short, and he suddenly felt quite vulnerable should that happen.

None of that anymore, he decided. He'd get himself some proper preparation with the best he could find – go to Scrimgeour himself if need be – and next time, there would be deaths on his account. It wouldn't be due to his inaction.

"Potter?"

Harry blinked, glancing around.

"Potter, are you there?"

He realized he recognized that voice – it was coming from the bookcase, where he'd put his manual – and a certain mirror.

"Malfoy?"

* * *

**Author's Note :** Quite a big chapter there - this marks the end of this little arc; We'll get to Malfoy next time, as well as Harry's meeting with Dumbledore; Harry also returns to the Department, only a short time left before Voldemort's inevitable attack happens - and now the Dark Lord has two targets down there.

Hope you put up with the brief spikes of Emo Harry - he's not quite grown out of his OotP-ness quite yet. ^^

Some of the events alluded to in the author's note of last chapter will still happen, but they're put off a little due to the fact that this chapter's events took up quite a bit of space. Harry's dinner with the Weasleys will come soon enough, in all its uncomfortableness. (Though writing the whole redhead clan, or at least the non-Hogwarts part of it, should be fun; last time any of them were prominently in the fic was back at the train station. :P

Cheers.


	16. Interim : The Headmaster

**Chapter 16 : The Headmaster**

It was a most curious thing, time; sometimes it ran away with you, speeding by like a train without brakes. Other times it slowed down to a crawl, every waking moment another turgid step onwards on the great journey. Then, there were times like this – when it seemed to stop entirely, waiting for people to catch up and make their choices.

"I think I'll have the lemon," Dumbledore said slowly, frowning with uncertainty. "Yes - that will be all, Tippy."

The little floppy-eared house-elf saluted bravely and bowed deeply before she disappeared with a clear pop into thin air. Dumbledore smiled wistfully, sighing tiredly as he rested his weary bones in his fluffy armchair, idly fiddling with one of his many little magical gadgets; most of them he'd designed himself and the majority of the things did nothing actually useful. This particular one detected tea leaves in its vicinity – he'd created it many years before when a particularly noxious professor had joined the staff that made even Severus' disposition look sunny – it was all rather embarrassing after the fact. The logic behind the invention was that the man always brought homebrew tea along since he did not appreciate the castle's assortment of drink; this habit would prove to be the reason he so very rarely managed to find his colleague that taught Transfiguration.

Dumbledore glanced up suddenly; he'd heard the tell-tale sounds of a voice beyond his door- there was someone at the gargoyle. The Headmaster could feel the slow rumbling as it moved aside, allowing someone passage up. Slow methodical steps resounded up the staircase, solid and confident. There was really only one person that sounded like that.

"Come in, Severus."

Dumbledore smiled demurely as the Potions Master entered with his perpetual scowl, long black robes flaring behind him like the wings of a bat as he muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath. He sighed and nodded with a modicum of respect, sitting down across from him at the desk with an inquisitive gaze. "Albus. You requested my presence?"

"I do hope I didn't inconvenience you," Dumbledore answered mildly, putting down the Tea Flee. "I thought it was best to let you rest for a time before we conversed more thoroughly about recent events; you seemed rather pale and tired, the last time I saw you."

Snape sighed, rubbing his eyes. He'd spent the better part of the night brewing, not resting; he required little sleep, and desired even less. The funeral for Hestia Jones had likely been the evening before – he didn't know, as he'd elected to simply spend his time productively and leave such thoughts for another time. "I gave you the memories of what happened – what more do you require?"

"Your memories display well enough what you experienced – they are, however, but a pale imitation of being present; there are many things that could escape my attention." Dumbledore gave a friendly smile, glancing to his pensieve, now covered up. "I'd like your personal – interpretation – of Regulus Black and his actions."

"Black is…" Snape shook his head in annoyance. "More than a decade has passed, Albus – I have no idea what happened to him since those last days among the Death Eaters. Whatever he did since those days, he's not told me. Black's as much a mystery to me as he is to anyone else."

"He seemed apologetic about his role in past events," Dumbledore pointed out, stroking his beard in contemplation. "It is true that we should be sceptical of such fortuitous events – finding Regulus alive is an odd coincidence at this time, a strange hand that fate has dealt us. It could lead to events that put the Order in peril, as he knows many things I would rather not have spread around without my knowledge. Still… I dare not give up on him so easily, should he have truly followed a path like your own."

"Black, betraying the Dark Lord…" Snape muttered. "I can't even imagine such a thing – he was the proper brother, sarcastic and haughty but most definitely a dark wizard, his opinions of muggleborns and half-bloods barely any better than his contemporaries, and certainly worse than mine. Whatever got him out must've been important - perhaps dangerously so."

"Oh, I do believe that," Dumbledore answered softly, eyes troubled as he turned to his collection of knick-knacks. "I long suspected that something was off about the disappearance of the boy – his family allegedly found his remains but they certainly never showed anyone; likely they simply attempted to save face. Perhaps it is true that Regulus did escape the public eye, slipping into the shadows of the Ministry's bowels; stranger things have happened, certainly. Since his reappearance he has been spotted by several Order members, evidently no longer bothering with a disguise."

Snape sniffed, gazing dully out the window. "His return will have reached the Dark Lord's ears now – the Mark has been burning all day. It is doubtful that keeping his head low would have any effect at this point."

Dumbledore nodded. "I very much doubt that this is a coincidence; I am certain Minister Scrimgeour elected to untie this horse from the stable and saddle it – he clearly intends to take it to war. What troubles me is the fact that Rufus seems to be actively drawing fire to himself by doing such things – Voldemort will not take kindly to someone harbouring traitors to his cause." He shook his head, gazing again at Snape. "Severus – Rufus has stopped answering my letters, and is frequently seen locking himself into his office. Then there's his blatant reversal of opinions on the topic of the Order – less than a year ago, he would have gladly jailed me for even entertaining the concept."

"What are you implying?"

"I am not certain – I can simply assume he has gone mad, but that seems rather less than complimentary; I similarly doubt that the Ministry is panicked enough to do these things for no good reason; Rufus has some sense. We are missing something and Regulus Black must be near the centre of it." He frowned darkly. "We have to consider what this means, not just for the Ministry and the school – but for the people we have left in the Ministry's control."

Snape frowned, suddenly sighing as he understood the implication. "Potter's involved?"

"He has been seen visiting Minister Scrimgeour on several occasions – alone. Given the presence of a private elevator to that level, there may be many more such instances that Order members have simply missed entirely." He folded his hand together. "Harry's never said anything about it – likely he's not able due to the contract he signed; even if he wished our help, he would likely be unable to ask it. I should have foreseen that… Regardless, it is important. It is no different than the fact that Regulus Black appears similarly popular with our new Minister."

"Potter's been back to Hogwarts several times, he's hardly a prisoner," Snape said in annoyance. "Loathe as I am to suggest it, perhaps simply asking the brat would be a viable strategy?"

Dumbledore nodded distractedly, his eyes going to a neatly written letter that'd been on his desk, ready to be sent, for several hours; he'd not decided whether to send it or not. Perhaps it would be wise to hear more sides of these troubles before coming to damning conclusions. He picked it up and glanced at Snape. "I will invite Mr. Black to visit me, here; I will see what can be done, as I have other issues to speak with him about, as well. Suspicions alone do not constitute enough reason to burst into Harry's life with dire warnings – I'd prefer him to live away from all this, at least for a while."

Snape grumbled something. "Now – ask me what you wished to know about Black, I should be getting back to my work."

Dumbledore turned slowly, curious eye on his pensieve. "There was a peculiarity about Regulus that I hoped you could elucidate…"

* * *

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, perplexed. What on earth could _he_ need?

"Yes, Potter – who did you think it was? The other people you gave secret communication mirrors too?" the blond boy snorted disdainfully, though came across as rather nervous. Unlike his usual perfect attire, Malfoy seemed frazzled, his hair in disarray and his clothes rather scruffy-looking – had he been doing things he shouldn't? "Look – I have to warn you about something – do you have a moment?"

Harry nodded uncertainly; running a hand through his hair as he quickly closed his room's door and sat on his bed with rapt attention focused on the mirror. "Talk."

Malfoy took a moment to stabilize his mirror on something, glaring at Harry with some degree of disdain, straightening his robe and hair. "Look – this isn't about needing your help - when that happens, you'd better come running. This is about – well - I've heard things."

"Things." Harry repeated dully. "Well, Malfoy – "

"Listen and let me finish, jerk," Malfoy snapped. "There's Death Eaters after your neck and they're going to come for you. Withinthe_ week_." He pointed at the mirror's surface accusingly. "You'd better get yourself to safety or you're no use to me whatsoever."

Harry rolled his eyes at the jab, frowning at Malfoy's assertion – that timescale was a lot more accurate than 'probably somewhere in the next month' that the Unspeakables and particularly Burbidge had argued. "How do you know?"

"Greg – Greg's dad's involved, he says – he and Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf – and others besides. Look – I have been hearing a lot of things since you left but I figured it was mostly nonsense." He looked nervously over his shoulder for a moment. "This, though – I found a letter from his father that is rather unambiguous."

"_Found?_ You mean you stole it," Harry observed with some amusement. "I think you underestimate the Ministry, Malfoy – I can even apparate now, sort of, so there's no real point in trying to get me here."

Malfoy hissed in anger. "Potter – you're not the _only_ target. The Dark Lord is coming to kill the Minister. This isn't some little raid!"

Well, crap. Unlike himself, the Minister wasn't constantly holed up in the lower levels – he couldn't be, or nobody would ever see the man. A Death Eater attack that avoided all the preparations set up down in the lowest levels would definitely be a bad thing. "How certain are you of this?"

"Unless the Dark Lord regularly arranges for fake attacks on the _Ministry of Magic_, I'd take it bloody seriously." Malfoy muttered into his mirror. "If you keep my name out of things, you can warn whoever you think should know – just remember that you owe me for this, Potter."

Harry nodded soberly. "I'll get you and your family out of the way, Malfoy – I have some contacts, now."

"What about my father?"

Harry cringed as he remembered Lucius Malfoy, vicious smirk on his face as he asked for the Prophecy – the last time he'd seen the man was back during the attack on the Ministry. Still… he needed to get make alliances, here. He wanted the bastard to hang – but there were bigger fish to fry. "Your father – if he swears not to harm me or mine again, I won't stop him from leaving with you – I can't speak for anyone else doing the same, though."

Malfoy nodded in relief, straightening. "Potter… thank you."

Harry gazed at Malfoy for a little longer than other found comfortable, as he fidgeted. Finally, he spoke. "You shouldn't be the one to thank me, Malfoy. If anything, it is my gratitude you deserve. If you'll excuse me – I have a Minister to go bother."

* * *

He was still considering what exactly he'd do about Malfoy later that afternoon, as he walked pensively through the Department – he didn't really have something to do right now due to the absence of a large number of his colleagues and had spent some time simply wandering through the hall of artefacts – one of the more intriguing rooms, to be sure; right at the moment he was alone, and he sighed.

After going undercover as Regulus for some time, it was good to be in his own skin for a little while, once again; granted, he felt a lot less guilty about it since he went to Grimmauld Place, but lying to everyone he came across wasn't really something he preferred – though he seemed uncomfortably good at it. He thought uncomfortably that right now he was probably being more of a Slytherin than bloody Malfoy.

In a sense, though – the disguise did allow him to get away from the uncomfortable stares that people sent his way just for being the 'Boy-who-lived'; for once in his life he was able to be someone else entirely. It was perhaps ironic that it took for him to get even more special privileges compared to his classmates to find a little bit of normalcy.

"Mr. Potter –" Burbidge's loud voice cut through the room, and Harry looked up in annoyance – it figured she would be the one to find him. Burbidge's grave expression was rather offset by two owls perching on her shoulders, hooting softly.

"What is it?"

Burbidge bristled at his tone, scowling. "Two owls have been pecking at my fingers for the last half hour – they're rather adamant you receive your post." She gestured to her shoulders, rolling her eyes. "If I'd known you would get such persistent pen pals, I'd probably never have considered personally delivering them. Now, take them."

Harry nodded, removing a large and ornate-looking letter inscribed with very familiar handwriting, the other a small one made of thick paper with the unmistakable scrawl of Molly Weasley. The two owls nipped cheerily at his fingers, hopping over to his own shoulders with a single flap, balancing precariously. "Oy!"

"Your problem now, Potter," Burbidge said, smiling devilishly. "In any case, I also wanted to deliver these." She reached into her robe, removing a small satchel. Harry quickly slipped it into his pocket – he was fully aware what it contained, as he'd surreptitiously requested it himself: Polyjuice potion and a liberal supply of Regulus Black's hair; an insurance policy, of sorts.

Harry nodded absently, flipping open Molly Weasley's envelope first- he had an uncomfortable history with her post, and vaguely feared it would start screaming at the top of its lungs any moment now. Burbidge sniffed and walked off, waving distractedly.

"I expect you in my office, tomorrow evening – you've been lax in responding to requests by some of the other Departments, and we should discuss that." She shrugged. "I can understand brushing off the Prophecy guys – who wouldn't – but still."

Harry grimaced – it was true that he'd been reluctant about getting around to all parts of the Department (or the Ministry in general, for that matter.) He'd intentionally set aside time to brush up on his combat skills – thankfully, it'd had an effect – and up to this point, there hadn't been any fuss about that, given that as a relative newcomer, he didn't have obligations to stick with one particular project for a long time. In a sense, he'd put defeating Voldemort in that spot. "I'll be there."

Harry left the artefact room as he scanned Mrs. Weasley's letter – it was surprisingly detached-sounding which was, Harry supposed, only sensible; it was addressed to Regulus Black, not Harry Potter. "Well, at least the owls are no issue," He muttered distractedly. Evidently Charlie Weasley had been enthusiastic about Harry's part in the rescue operation in Romania – he was spending some time at home to recover and his mother had decided that inviting the one responsible to dinner was only proper – Harry smirked at the thought of Snape receiving a similar missive.

It would be good to see the Weasleys again – likely Ron and Ginny wouldn't be there, which meant a lot less difficult acting on his part. He had no idea how he would act like strangers to those two; their parents were easy in comparison. Perhaps it was a good idea – he knew that the Order of the Phoenix was well-represented in the family so it would be a good way to make a few connections as his alter-ego; it'd probably also get back to Dumbledore.

Speaking of which – the second letter was yet another invite to Regulus Black. Harry rolled his eyes; at this point his freshly-created alter-ego was looking rather popular. Dumbledore would be tougher – the old man had a lot more tricks up his sleeves than the Weasleys, and there's probably be difficult questions; he clearly remembered that speculative look after their meeting in the Ministry building.

Harry sighed – he knew full well that he couldn't just brush off being invited by one of the most powerful wizards in the country, even if he hadn't been the head of the Order of the Phoenix – the Minister had practically ensured it when he decided to put him in a leadership position of a joined assault on Voldemort. He shifted, suddenly uncomfortably hot, and glanced up.

"Well, you look positively uncomfortable," Mustang intoned dryly, smiling. "How are things?"

"Mustang," Harry responded, frowning – he glanced around and realized that without quite realizing it he'd wandered right into the newest part of the Department, after taking a wrong turn. The room still looked under construction, though several maps and large filing cabinets were already in place, as were what seemed to be large versions of a Wizarding Wireless. "Sorry, must've gotten lost. Hold on, I have to take care of this…"

Harry excused himself, quickly sending off both owls with a quick note of acceptance - A visit with Dumbledore was scheduled the following morning, which was actually ideal; it would be followed by the Weasleys next Saturday, though he made a mental note to make sure he arrived exactly on time – he could imagine Mrs. Weasley's fussing already – especially if he was really early. He realized uncomfortably that Mustang was still keeping an eye on him, staring at him from across the room.

"So – this place is about done?"

Mustang shrugged. "It's pretty much done - I figured you'd come here eventually. You'll see actual work being done here within the week," The man gave a friendly smile. "Our last employee is finally arriving tomorrow – we'll be kicking Death Eater butt before you know it." He winked knowingly. "You know a little about that, eh? Kicked some ass in Romania, I hear."

"It was just two of them – well three," Harry said, thinking back. "I got lucky."

"Mad-eye would be proud – not bad for a first timer," He said, smirking. "Where is the old codger, anyway?"

"He's been out of the Ministry for a week or so, now." Harry noted, frowning. "I have my suspicions on the reasons – Scrimgeour seems to think that it might not be the best idea to let him in on the whole Regulus thing – though I question the wisdom of telling you guys."

"Asami told me," Mustang responded with a shrug. "In any case, people here aren't stupid enough to go spread that stuff around to people they don't trust. I made an oath and all that crap; it's not as if I'd get away scot-free." He scowled. "One of the nasty ones, too – she knows her stuff."

"I need to talk to that woman," Harry muttered – spreading around information like this wouldn't help him keep his cover for very long. "Maybe I should go fetch Mr. Peasegood," He joked, winking. "No more troubles from either of you, then – well, if you remember who you are, afterwards."

Mustang shuddered. "Don't even joke about that, now."

Harry sighed, glancing outside the room, where Unspeakables were walking in and out, oblivious to their presence. "Mustang – do you ever get the feeling that you're way too dumb for this job? There are geniuses through that door that would probably make Professor Dumbledore flap his ears…"

"Hmmm," The man glanced in the same direction briefly. "The Unspeakables have a lot of that type – but they're not the only ones, you know. I'm certainly not here for my stellar intellect. You – well, considering the kinds of things I've been hearing, you'll probably end up with the most dangerous tasks we have around here." He snorted. "Let's face it – you're fighting Death Eaters in your first year, going undercover, learning stuff that most here haven't even _tried._ I think the Minister's got big plans for you."

"That's what worries me," Harry responded, frowning. "He's rather fond of arranging for things without my consent – I have half a mind he's also involved in this whole Regulus Black business. I certainly didn't intend to waltz in as a dead man…"

Mustang shrugged, dropping down on one of the seats with a deep sigh. "Just make sure you dance to Burbidge's tune until she decides to hand you off to someone else – she's already more involved in what you're up to than I've ever heard her do." He smiled. "Such a headstrong woman…"

"Well – that's great," Harry said quickly. "I should go train my spells – no time like the present –" He quickly made his way to the door, glancing back. "I'll – see you later, then?"

Mustang nodded knowingly, smirking. "Keep safe."

Harry didn't really intend to go train his spells; after the mission and Malfoy he was rather looking for a little cool-down, and he didn't really have any obligations until next morning's visit to Hogwarts. He walked over to his bookcase and his hand briefly wavered between Dumbledore's diary and that curious collection of fairy tales by Beedle the Bard – he finally decided that on the latter.

"The Tale of the Three Brothers," he read, curious.

A mere half-hour later he'd ensconced himself in the library and wouldn't leave until late in the evening.

* * *

Harry was nervous – he couldn't imagine who wouldn't be, given what he was about to do; essentially the same thing that the fake Moody had pulled off in his fourth year. He'd made sure to keep enough prepared Polyjuice with him, his clothes and wand were appropriate, and he'd even put on a tie of all things. Distinctly uncomfortable as it was, he couldn't very well visit someone as Regulus Black and wear pauper's clothing.

Slipping into the Great Hall, curious faces gazed at him from all directions as he walked between the long tables; he'd interrupted breakfast, it seemed. Piles of dumplings, bacon, eggs and toast were stacked high and quite a few people had put liberal loads of all of them on their plates. Ron and Hermione sat in their usual spots at the Gryffindor table; he realized that his own spot was still free; evidently it was kept free, just in case he came by – he smiled genuinely at that. His eyes skimmed over the Ravenclaw table, the Hufflepuff one – neither were paying any attention to him – and finally the Slytherin table, which was more than a little attentive – figured. Finally he met Dumbledore's eyes – Harry noticed that Snape was scowling furiously from his own spot at the head table, and forced a smile.

"Mr. Black – I will be with you shortly." Dumbledore announced, nodding slightly. Harry noticed even more heads going up at the Slytherin table – evidently the Headmaster intended someone to catch wind of his arrival, or he probably wouldn't have said anything at all.

"I will wait – you don't mind if I grab a bite, do you? I'm starving." Harry smiled good-naturedly and Dumbledore gave a slight nod, though his eyes were sharp and cold – decidedly different from how he looked at him without the disguise.

Breakfast usually wasn't as longwinded as the opening feast, and quite a few curious students glanced at him as they left the great hall early, including some suspiciously swift Slytherin. Judging by the numbers, not even half the students were still in the room; Malfoy definitely was, though. Harry thought he seemed particularly tense – probably convinced that the new arrival was a Death Eater sent to kidnap him or nonsense like that – with a Black for a mother, he doubtlessly knew the family tree.

Harry noticed that Hermione was looking at him with an intrigued expression – she hesitantly tapped next to her on the bench, and judging from Ron's affronted expression, the message wasn't lost on him either – he was being offered his own seat.

"Mr. Black – I've heard quite a bit about you," Hermione gushed as Harry walked closer. She sent a warning glance to Ron. "I wanted to thank you for what you did for Ron's brother," she added meaningfully. "Please, sit."

"That's-" Ron protested, though he stopped and sighed as he noticed Hermione's fierce look. "Fine – fine. Sit."

Harry sat gingerly, his older looks standing out from the students around him – he had half a mind to go over to the head table, but he had his suspicions that would be even more unwelcome than partaking in the splendour of good Hogwarts cooking. "It was my pleasure, Mrs – Granger, is it?"

"Yes!" Hermione said, gaping. "Oh – Harry must've told you about us! How is he? It's been over a week since we last saw him…"

"Mr. Potter's fine, as far as I know," Harry answered, once more feeling decidedly fake, though he bolstered his nerves – the really hard stuff had yet to come. "Last I saw of him, he was in the Department of Mysteries, nervous about a performance review or something like that." He glanced at Ron. "He sends you two his regards, of course, as well as a few others."

"I can guess who," Hermione answered, smiling. She glanced around herself, whispering. "I can talk with you about the Department, can't I? The unbreakable vow?"

"If you couldn't, you'd have noticed immediately," Harry answered confidently. He'd actually tested out the contract he'd made with the Ministry – though it wasn't quite an unbreakable vow, it might as well be; if he tried to do something decidedly against the rules, sharp needle-like stabs behind his eyes were a pretty good sign he'd have to back off. "Perhaps you should avoid it, though – too many curious ears."

Hermione nodded. "It's just strange, you know – Harry writes regularly and we see him sometimes, but I've no idea what he does and hardly a clue who he works with."

"Wish we could come visit sometime," Ron added begrudgingly. "Though I suppose you'd have our memories erased or such…"

Harry shrugged – he had severe doubts over whether or not Burbidge could be budged to let strangers roam the halls – the glimpse they'd gotten when breaking in was probably the most they'd get to see. "I'm sure Mr. Potter will gladly show you the rest of the Ministry building – he'd found with the Aurors quite frequently, they'd probably be less wand-happy."

Looking over to the teachers, Harry had the uncomfortable realization that he'd have to remember to treat them as strangers, perhaps even more so than Ron or Hermione – he didn't know for certain which of them had actually met Regulus in life, given that the painting hadn't even touched on the topic. He silently cursed the enchanted object about the omission, though it was too late now. Flitwick didn't seem interested in his presence, nor Sprout – Snape was still flicking his gaze towards him occasionally, as did the man next to him – with a start, Harry realized that he didn't know who that was, at all. It'd have to be the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher that he'd never had a chance to meet – well, there was at least one person he wouldn't need to act oblivious about.

"Say, Mrs. Granger – it's been quite a while since I was here – who are the new teachers?" He gave what he thought was a congenial smile; Ron frowned dangerously.

"Ah!" Hermione looked a bit startled. "Of course – well, everyone knows Professor Dumbledore, of course – and Professor McGonagall too, she teaches transfiguration, though I suppose you already know about that…"

Harry nodded. "I'm unfamiliar with the wizard next to Severus – that is, Professor Snape," he supplied, before Hermione could be off to list all the various accomplishments of the teachers he already knew. "A new addition?"

"Ah, him," Hermione said; she was less than enthusiastic about him, it seemed. "That's Professor Deckard – he's a bit… peculiar."

"Scatter-brained and an idiot," Ron supplied, grimacing. "I swear, we learned more from _Lockhart _– well, perhaps not quite that, but it's close."

Harry chuckled, gazing again at the man; the sharp gaze and powerful presence that this Deckard exuded didn't really match up with such a characterization. "Defence against the Dark Arts, I take it?"

"Right – I suppose we can't complain too much, given the teacher we had last year…"

Harry nodded thoughtfully; Neville was a little ways down the table, looking uncertainly in his direction; not fearful, which was a start at least, though he did seem uncomfortable.

"Excuse me," Harry said; he quickly, stood up, snatching up his plate with a bit of bacon and an egg.

Neville's eyes went wide as Harry approached; the latter intentionally tried to make himself come off as unthreatening as possible, just in case he'd misread the situation. There were plenty of seats at the Gryffindor table now, quite a few had left already.

"Mr. Longbottom."

"R-Regulus Black?" Neville said uncertainly, sitting up straight. "I had heard about – well, I didn't think –"

Harry sighed – it figured rumours of his reappearance would have made their way here already; the Death Eaters certainly knew, and more than a few of them had children in this school that they'd probably keep informed. "Yes – I'm alive; you seemed more affected than most, it seemed." He glanced to Ron and Hermione, who were keeping an eye on their conversation, though they were too far off to hear it.

"Well –" Neville looked down uncomfortably. "It's just – my grandmother told me about you, one time – about how you were a Death Eater who tried to back out – the only wizard with sense in your family, she said."

Harry shrugged. "It is old history – I'm not afraid to admit that much." He looked at Neville with narrowed eyes. "That's not all, is it?"

Neville hesitated, and then nodded. "It's about – well, grandmother told me that the Black family has a lot of connections – with really great healers and people like that; I'd hoped…" He mumbled something incomprehensible, though Harry got the gist of it.

"Your parents," Harry concluded, feeling suddenly very tired. "I don't want to get your hopes up, Neville – I know they're in St. Mungo's and that the very best healers work there. It's been over a decade since I was last out in the open – there's not very much left of the Black family's old connections - I'm now the last one that even carries that name."

Neville nodded, sighing. "I thought so."

Harry didn't quite know what else to say to Neville, and excused himself, wandering down the breakfast table just as the first plates were beginning to vanish – the House-elves were getting busy, it seemed. Hermione, Ron and Neville quickly left together, the last giving a quick nod before they turned the corner – most of the teachers had already left during his conversation.

"I trust it was good to eat Hogwarts food once more, after so very long." Dumbledore stated, suddenly right next to him; Harry managed to avoid flinching, though his eyes shot up to the Headmaster's.

"Oh, very – I'm afraid the Ministry's rather hit-and-miss as far as meals are concerned." He nodded at the table, where several scones were vanishing into thin air. "It doesn't help that you have to be careful not to accidentally pick a glass of blood instead of wine – the hazard of working with a varied group, I suppose."

Dumbledore didn't answer, gesturing him along. Harry still felt underdressed even in his neat robe; compared to his Unspeakable robe or Dumbledore's extravagant collection, it was decidedly plain, and the muted colours didn't really improve matters. The two made their way up the stairs in silence; they passed by various students who sent them inquisitive looks. Before Harry knew it they'd arrived at the stone gargoyle that led to Dumbledore's office. The man gave no sound, but it suddenly opened up; Harry realized with a start that it had to work on the same principle as the special elevator in the Ministry; it could be opened with a silent spell.

"I like what you've done with the place," Harry tried airily, gingerly tapping his pocket – he'd slipped a sip of Polyjuice while drinking, down in the hall, so he should have enough time as his alter ego for a fair meeting. "Your collection has expanded considerably."

Dumbledore smiled slightly, gazing over to Harry's side. There, Fawkes the Phoenix was taking in the new arrival, a soft sound emanating from his throat, a slight touch of that unearthly quality its song possessed unmistakable – it sent a shiver down his back. The bird finally crooned softly, putting its head down. Harry gingerly walked over, nervously running a hand over the creature's smooth feathered crest; Fawkes warbled a soft whistling tone of appreciation.

"Phoenixes are truly extraordinary creatures," Dumbledore remarked, looking on with that all too familiar twinkle in his eyes. "Very good judges of character, I'd say."

"I hope so," Harry joked, hesitantly running his hand over his pocket once more – besides the Polyjuice, there was one other item in there; something he'd taken great risk in bringing so openly into Hogwarts.

"Mr. Black – I shall be honest with you, if you agree to do the same in return," Dumbledore said, settling himself behind his desk and folding his hands. "Though I have been warned not to by several trusted compatriots, it is my opinion that everyone deserves a chance to make amends for past wrongs – your past as a Death Eater, in particular. It is … not without precedent."

"I am not proud of that time," Harry said uncomfortably, remembering all too well the distraught expression on painting-Regulus' face as he recounted what had happened after he joined Voldemort's forces. "I attempted to make amends for my actions, back then – unfortunately, the Dark Lord noticed my betrayal quite quickly, and I was forced to make use of my family's connections to find a way out that would be untraceable – to fake my death."

Dumbledore nodded, smiling slightly. "I must confess that I was quite convinced you had genuinely expired, Mr. Black – my sources are not inconsiderable, so the Ministry must be commended for hiding you so thoroughly."

"It wasn't the Ministry," Harry said lightly. "The Ministry only found out much later that I was in their employ – much to their horror, in fact. It was only the Unbreakable Vow that I had sworn that prevented my outright execution, as my status as a Death Eater was no secret." Harry shrugged. "It wasn't until Minister Scrimgeour that I was brought in for missions outside the Department's lowest levels – not to mention without a disguise. He believes – and I have come to agree with this – that I can do some good for the fight against the Dark Lord, rather than cooped up."

"Rufus does have a certain flair for the dramatic," Dumbledore agreed. "Still – I believe you can understand my scepticism regarding your reappearance at such an opportune time – just when you could reclaim ancient Black possessions and there is nobody left to dispute your ownership of them."

Harry sighed – he'd already realized that Sirius would come up, and it seemed the Headmaster wouldn't let him off with a claim of coincidence. "I admit – my brother's demise – shook me." Harry glanced towards Fawkes who crooned softly. "I had intended to make contact with him, after his escape from Azkaban – I never got that chance. It led me to keep a closer eye on the investigation into his location."

"We are all sorry to have lost him, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "Sirius was – a free spirit, I think one could say. I don't know what he would have said, had he known that his brother wasn't the cowardly traitor he imagined, but I would prefer to think he'd have accepted it."

Harry didn't answer, frowning. "Professor-"

"Oh, goodness!" Dumbledore said, chuckling. "You haven't been a student for more than a decade – Albus, please."

"Regulus as well, then," Harry said, smiling slightly at the old man's skilful attempt to divert away from the painful topic of Sirius. "Now – catching up on old times would be interesting, no doubt – less has changed here than I'd expected, and there's of course some new people – but I believe you had a reason for requesting an audience – and it would probably be a good idea to get that over with."

Dumbledore's expression turned serious and Harry felt a chill run down his back – those steely eyes were considerably harsher than he could remember them ever being. "Yes – Regulus. I wish to talk about your – former Master, shall we say. Lord Voldemort."

Harry nodded, narrowing his eyes. This wasn't really a topic Dumbledore would bring up with anyone – it took five school years before the prophecy even came up, for example, and his hand was forced, there. Was the old man desperate enough to actually reach out to people he had little knowledge of? Harry found that it wasn't difficult to slip into Regulus' sceptical mind-set – his very Slytherin view of the world, even. "Go on…"

"The Dark Lord has returned – and we find ourselves in murky waters." Dumbledore stood, walking over to a large bookcase besides his desk. "I do my part in attempting to thwart him, of course – you are already aware of the Order of the Phoenix, and there are ventures besides that which I pursue. One of those is to find a way in which the Ministry of Magic can be of assistance – rather than a detriment, as it is liable to be – though only very specific people within it."

Harry nodded, though he was a bit ambivalent about how much he could actually get done – Scrimgeour would listen, but he didn't agree with much that Harry had proposed. "Perhaps you should have brought that up with the Minister – I cannot speak for him."

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore conceded. "Still – you were clearly Rufus' representative on the rescue operation to retrieve Mr. Weasley and his colleagues – though it was only partially successful, I have been told quite a few good things about your conduct there. Someone as experienced as Minister Scrimgeour would not send people he lacked trust in on important assignments such as that." His eyes twinkled as he grabbed a small stack of letters from a bookshelf and opened one with a flourish, holding it out. "An Unspeakable Black is listed as an advisor in numerous recent documents that came from Rufus' desk, as well as several letters – now that your identity is no longer an issue of complete confidentiality, he's seen fit to give credit where it is due, it seems."

Harry groaned – it was true enough that Harry had commented on a number of recent issues where Scrimgeour could hear, but he hadn't expected the man to include such trivia in his reports – doubtlessly the man was trying to give him a little more legitimacy using this method. It was working, too. "I asked him not to do that…"

Dumbledore smiled thinly. "We mustn't deceive ourselves – you have considerably more say in the Ministry than rank would seem to indicate, and Rufus is not afraid people will come to that conclusion; he has plans for you, I am certain. This brings us back to where this started – Lord Voldemort."

"What about him?" Harry wondered. "The Ministry is already delivering considerably more manpower to fight Death Eater incursions than the previous Minister ever allowed."

Dumbledore didn't answer for a few moments. "Regulus – there is a certain task that must be performed – to allow for Lord Voldemort to be vanquished, in the end." He looked up from under those bushy eyebrows. "You know what I speak of."

Harry did, and a chill ran down his back – the lump in his robe suddenly felt infinitely heavier and dangerous – there he kept Regulus' last heirloom – Salazar Slytherin's locket, retrieved from the cave in which Voldemort had first hidden it. There was no doubt that this was what the Headmaster was referring to – he knew about the Horcruxes! Harry swallowed thickly, eyes locked to Dumbledore's as he slowly nodded. How had he found out? Did Dumbledore know where the others were? Finally he forced his queries aside and focused."_Horcrux_. How…?"

Dumbledore reached into his robes, drawing a long silver necklace from it – at the end was a small locket, glinting lightly in the morning sun – one that he'd seen on painted Regulus, back in Grimmauld Place. The one that Regulus had switched out for the real deal.

"You went – to the cave," Harry concluded, eyes wide.

Dumbledore nodded and Harry noticed that a lot of the harshness and tenseness flowed away the moment he'd said those words. With a start, Harry realized it'd been a test – Dumbledore had been trying to figure out whether or not the person before him knew about all of this already - testing his identity. For a brief moment, a comparison between the old man and Mad-Eye Moody occurred to him, and he realized with a shiver the latter at least made it clear when he was testing you.

"It was some weeks ago, when I went to retrieve a former Professor to possibly take over his old role as teacher, that I discovered the man was rather… easily dismissing a prime career opportunity." Dumbledore started, grimacing. "In my ire, I employed magic that I, in retrospect, should not have." The man closed his eyes briefly. "I used Legilimency to retrieve the man's true reasons for rejecting my offer – and found rather more than I'd bargained for."

"You realize you are confessing to a crime, right?" Harry wondered, appalled; reading minds without permission had some pretty serious punishments in the Ministry, at least. "There are few who have the Occlumency training to defend against such intrusion…"

"I admit, I acted – unwisely," Dumbledore said, sighing. "I suspected that there was foul play at work – I thought that perhaps the person in question had connections to the Death Eaters that I had not expected, or was being threatened by them. Regardless, I acted. Far more memories from the person in question came to me than I was looking for – the topic of the Dark Lord was on the man's mind and having repressed some memories without the aid of Occlumency…"

Harry shivered slightly– repressed memories were listed as one of the hazards that could be encountered by a Legilimens in the books Moody had given him on the topic. "I take it they were… incriminating."

"Hardly – but several memories were unusual in that they appeared almost – altered. Not via Occlumency, but at the very least some type of mind-magic; obliviation of a strange kind, perhaps. The memories in question were of a young Voldemort – and they concerned the topic of Horcruxes."

Harry nodded uncomfortably. "How did you find the cave?"

"That was – relatively easy," Dumbledore admitted. "I suspected that Voldemort might use locations important to him in some way, or objects he felt connected to; the cave in question plays a role in his early life, which is why I chose to explore it. Thankfully, my suspicion was confirmed, and I was able to retrieve the object."

Harry nodded demurely – he realized, a little disturbed, that the only reason he could even keep up with half of this was the fact that the painting in Grimmauld Place had been so very talkative – he had to go thank it, for it had actually managed to give him a one-up on Dumbledore of all people. "You found my – souvenir." He reached into his own pocket and retrieved the real locket, feeling distinctly cold and somewhat oily. "You were looking for this."

Harry placed it on the desk between them; it lay there innocently, decidedly unimpressive; a dark locket, the S of Slytherin standing out and the entirety of it exuding a malevolent presence. Dumbledore gazed at it with an expression somewhere between fearful and disgusted – something Harry had certainly never seen on him before. He dropped the fake locket to the desk as well, gazing back up at Harry.

"You did not destroy it."

"I don't have the means," Harry admitted. "I doubt just damaging the container will do much to the Horcrux inside, and I dare not cast the kind of dark magic that could affect it." He shoved it forward gingerly. "I had already intended to bring it to you – there are only a few wizards in this country that have anywhere near the power to destroy the Dark Lord's artefacts, and there's precious few I would allow knowledge of this thing's nature."

Dumbledore nodded, glancing up. "Regulus – how much have you confided in Rufus Scrimgeour, regarding Horcruxes? We cannot risk the information getting spread too far, before we have the ability to capture these items, and the Minister is already a target."

Harry scowled. "If you believe I'd discuss these kinds of issues with just anyone, you're sorely mistaken. I think you'll find that I kept it to myself."

Dumbledore now smiled, glancing back at the Horcrux that sat unassumingly on his desk. "Good – with so very few ways for Voldemort to discover someone has found this out, we should have time to destroy the others; that way, the coast is clear."

"There's more?" Harry asked, though he knew full well that at least several were still somewhere out there. He leaned forward in interest. Harry hadn't missed Dumbledore's reference to making the coast clear – the old man still intended for him to deal the finishing blow, as that blasted prophecy dictated.

Dumbledore gazed at the locket, finally speaking. "I have come to believe that six of these enchanted objects were made – one of them quite recently. I have reason to think that historically significant items were chosen as the host, such as this locket." He frowned. "I went to the village of Little Hangleton, where I suspected another Horcrux to be – unfortunately, though I confirmed that a highly powerful dark object had been kept there, it was gone."

Little Hangleton – that was where he'd been in the Third Task of the Triwzard Tournament – that's where Voldemort had risen and Cedric had died. A shiver ran down his back as he remembered that terrible moment. "What was it?"

"From what I can deduce, a ring." Dumbledore said. "Seeing as the shack in which it was kept belonged to the Gaunt family, it was most likely an heirloom of Voldemort's family, as he descends from one – he is, in fact, the last."

Harry couldn't help but gasp; Gaunt – that name was far too familiar. He had read all about it the day before, when he'd finally discovered why that odd symbol, Grindelwald's mark, was on a children's book. It was all about the Tale of the Three Brothers - the tale of three legendary items, gifted to three brothers by Death itself. A cloak that would hide one even from death, a stone that could bring back the dead, and a wand that could not be beaten.

It had taken little research to find that traditional lore named the three brothers as belonging to the Peverell family, a name now extinct, though descendants existed. The Gaunts were listed in one of the dustier tomes as one family possible descended from Cadmus Peverell – the owner of the stone.

With cold dread, Harry realized that one of the times he'd seen the symbol of the Hallows – that triangular shape – had been on the stone placed within a gaudy _ring – _worn by the ancient vampire that had seemed so very familiar with him already. It'd been on that man's finger, when he went to America with Moody on his first proper assignment. If that had been the stone – and a Horcrux, besides – did that mean all of it was true?

"Regulus?"

Harry glanced up, pale – Dumbledore seemed genuinely concerned at his inattentiveness. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry – do you know what it looks like?" Harry asked, cursing himself for forgetting himself.

"If the Gaunt family had any heirlooms, I suspect the family long sold most of those, given that they were living in squalor until the line went effectively extinct. I have no descriptions to give you." Dumbledore sighed. "Besides the ring, there is another Horcrux I am aware of – I have discovered that one has already been destroyed, and I had simply not recognized the object for what it was." The Headmaster pulled a badly damaged book from one of the pockets in his robe – a very familiar one. "This was destroyed several years ago – it is Voldemort's diary from his Hogwarts years."

Harry swallowed. "The Chamber of Secrets incident, I take it?"

Dumbledore agreed, putting the object down. "The book's power was broken with Basilisk venom – not an easy substance to come across." The old man pulled his wand and levitated both objects to a small side table. "As soon as the locket has been cleansed, we shall have to consider the others that we have no access to, yet – which is what I requested your presence for."

"You want the Ministry's help," Harry concluded. "Or – the Unspeakables, at least. I take it you want to avoid Minister Scrimgeour."

Dumbledore hesitated. "Rufus – is vulnerable. The Department of Mysteries has become something of an acquaintance of late after Mr. Potter's decisions to work there, which has opened new options – they have admirably kept his activities out of the public eye, even if Rufus doubtlessly prefers seeing him headline the Daily Prophet." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Since I was aware of one person that already knew about Voldemort's bid for immortality, I had hoped you could arrange for trusted individuals to swear an oath – as should you – to destroy these objects when they are found."

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead - he realized that Dumbledore's notion of trusted individuals was awfully familiar – that was a phrase Scrimgeour has used, and frequently. It was exactly how he described Moody and the other members of the newest addition to the Department of Mysteries – that strange group formed in response to Voldemort and to be tasked with the very toughest challenges. Like Horcruxes.

It figured that even here, the Division concerning Time would stick their big trans-temporal nose into things; likely Scrimgeour knew a little more than he was telling on the subject, thanks to that damnable report of his, and had been preparing this team, before he should even know they'd be needed. Harry forced his thoughts away from that conclusion before it inevitably started hurting. "Right. I'll look into that."

"Indeed," Dumbledore responded, eyes twinkling.

* * *

Dumbledore looked worriedly at the object that sat unassumingly next to the ruined diary of Tom Riddle – the locket; the real one, this time. He'd asked Severus to escort Regulus off the premises – the Headmaster dared not leave such a dark object unattended, not until he'd decided on a way to contain or destroy it, at least. He remembered the disturbed look in Regulus' eyes as he made to leave – the man must've been holding on to the object for years, so he'd likely never left it to other hands.

Regulus was – a strange one, Dumbledore considered idly. He was nowhere near as narrow-minded or nasty as his younger self had been – a certain mellowing with age, perhaps. Still, he'd also seemed rather… overly familiar, in a sense; like he was speaking to an old friend, rather than someone who was once an ideological enemy, or simply a powerful unknown. His proposals regarding the Horcruxes had been met with unambiguous agreement – he'd even sworn an oath not to tell anyone about the topic without permission, which was considerably more than he'd expected.

"Well, Fawkes – what say you?"

The phoenix sang softly, shrugging a little, tucking his beak under his wing – the bird had sensed nothing particularly malicious, but neither had he been particularly enthusiastic – the man was keeping secrets, though that was no surprise.

The most worrisome moment that had Dumbledore guessing, though, had been when the topic of the Gaunt ring came up – for a brief moment, Regulus had frozen – totally caught up in his thoughts. What did he know about the Gaunt ring? What could have made the man stutter like that?

"I am uncertain about the wisdom of this route," Dumbledore admitted aloud, glancing at the many portraits around the room – they'd been ensorcelled not to share any secrets they heard, but had certainly listened in. "It is true that finding these artefacts will be difficult – but I had not anticipated requiring outside assistance when I first formed the Order – even with oaths."

One of the seventeenth-century Headmasters with a long twisted beard and pointy hat harrumphed. "That twerp could no more spill these secrets than lift himself by his own hair."

Dumbledore nodded tiredly, narrowing his eyes as he approached the Sword of Gryffindor, still kept safe in his office, ever since Harry had delivered it, using it to slay the Basilisk under the school. It gleamed as sharp as it ever had.

"I will be convening with the Order – please inform everyone," Dumbledore noted to the portraits, and several saluted as they moved off. The Headmaster walked over to the windows, tiredly gazing out into the slight haze of what seemed be another overcast day – an apt metaphor for the situation.

He dearly hoped there would be no storm.

* * *

**Author's Note :** Well, it took a while, mostly because I was busy with Torikaeru (which has ballooned considerably :P) This is probably the last of the less action-y chapters for a little while for this story, as the next two or three should cover the events of Voldemort's assault on the Ministry and the inevitable trouble that leads to.

This story is on a hiatus in favour of some of the others. It will be continued, however. :)


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